


What Happens in Kirkwall...

by Jaden56, RsCreighton



Series: Hangover Series [3]
Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Anal Sex, Banter, Blood, Broodmothers (Dragon Age), Cannibalism, Canonical Character Death, Darkspawn, Eventual Monogamy, F/F, F/M, Fingering, Gore, Hallucinations, Horror, Hurt/Comfort, Magic, Masturbation, Multi, Oral Sex, PTSD, Pegging, Polyamory, Public Sex, Rape/Non-con Elements, Rimming, Sexual Assault, Spanking, Starvation, Suicide Attempt, Tattoos, Terrible coping methods, Threesome, UA, Universe Alterations, Vaginal Sex, Violence, Vomiting, Voyeurism, Withdrawal, bros being bros
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2018-05-13
Packaged: 2018-12-21 14:53:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 19
Words: 235,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11946603
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jaden56/pseuds/Jaden56, https://archiveofourown.org/users/RsCreighton/pseuds/RsCreighton
Summary: After deserting from King Cailan's army and watching her lover, brother, and entire village be slaughtered by the invading darkspawn, Marian Hawke flees Ferelden with what remains of her family. Hawke forms powerful new alliances and attempts to forge a new life within the unfriendly walls of Kirkwall while keeping her mage sister, Bethany, out of the hands of templars. With her new lover - the merchant prince, rogue, and storyteller Varric Tethras - and their companions, Hawke embarks on an expedition into the darkspawn-infested Deep Roads in hopes of finding riches beyond her imagining and reclaiming her family's status.The 3rd installment of the Hangover Series. Warning: TethrasHawke shenanigans ahead! Proceed with caution.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so it turns out there will be an actual plot to this story. By now, it’s grown so out of control that I’m just gonna shove the rest of it into a chaptered fic from this point on and call it a day. While I’m trying not to do a playthrough fic, I’m afraid I mostly failed in that regard, so please forgive the reiteration of any parts directly borrowed from the game. I know hearing the same stuff over and over can get a bit tedious, but there will be a few deviations from the main story in the chapters to come.
> 
> Thanks, as always, goes to my darling Rose, who deals with me texting her at all hours of the day/night to flip out over this fic. She’s amazing, so please go check out her podfic work if you haven’t done so already!

Hawke, in the usual manner of things, woke up sprawled across Varric, sore all over with certain parts of his anatomy poking her in the leg, but for once they weren’t on the floor. Considering the floor was a trap waiting to happen consisting of broken pieces of wood and ceramic, Hawke considered it in both their best interest to never get out of bed again. Hawke wasn’t a clingy person by nature but, Maker, she wanted to burrow inside Varric’s skin and just _be_ for a while without worrying about any of the million and one things she’d taken on since arriving in Kirkwall. Varric held her close despite the fact he probably couldn’t breathe very well with Hawke all but lying across his chest. He had a possessive hand against the small of her back while the other pressed between her shoulder blades like he was feeling out her heartbeat.  
  
Hawke was so fucking content she thought her heart would burst, which was annoying.

There would be no living with Varric if he knew how much of an effect he had on her. She was already planning a visit to Solivitus to replenish her supply of birthbane, but she had enough of the contraceptive herbs to last a little while longer if sex with Varric happened to become a regular thing. She really wanted it to become a regular thing.

“Come on, Killer. We have ourselves a Grey Warden to track down today.”

Varric’s gravelly voice interrupted her musings, which normally wouldn’t be so terrible a thing except he was planning on making her do work, and not the fun kind. If Hawke wanted to track down people for a living then she would have found work with slavers - not attached herself to a fucking slave-driver.

“Five more minutes,” Hawke whined, burying her face against the side of his neck and wrapping herself around him more tenaciously.

“Hawke, I’ve seen your five minutes turn into five hours, and you’re too pretty to claim a need for beauty sleep. So up and at ‘em, babe.”

Varric gave her rump a swat that stung pleasantly after last night’s abuse. Hawke groaned, really not convinced she should get up at all.

“What’s on the agenda today?” Hawke asked. She figured if she kept Varric talking long enough she wouldn’t actually have to move. She was in no hurry to return to Gamlen’s cramped, grimy house and be interrogated by her mother and Bethany. They were going to figure out something was up sooner or later, and Hawke preferred _later_. Much later. Or never, if possible.

“We need to locate the Grey Warden that’s supposedly hiding out in Kirkwall in order get a map leading to the Deep Roads entrances. Our expedition is dead in the water unless we actually find a way in that isn’t sealed up or overrun with darkspawn.”

“You’d have thought Bartrand would have considered that part first.”

“I can’t claim to understand how my brother’s mind works. He lets his greed get in the way of common sense and usually leaves it to me to figure out the logistics. Anyway, he’s been on my ass about getting those maps and there’s only so long I can get away with avoiding him before he hires mercenaries to string me up by my toes.”

“You know, that’s the kind of job I would have jumped on in a heartbeat if I was still with the Red Iron,” Hawke said wistfully and yelped when Varric pinched her. “Ow! Hey, you don’t think he’ll double-cross us, do you?”

“Bartrand? Nah. He’s an asshole, but he takes the whole head of the house thing seriously. He might be greedy, but he isn’t stupid.”

“That’s good to know.”

“Mmhm.”

They were clearly done talking about Bartrand. Their expedition wouldn’t progress without those maps, which meant Hawke would actually have to be productive today. She hated investigating. She’d much rather hit or stab something and collect her gold at the end of the day. Varric started to shift out from beneath her but Hawke was having none of that. She rolled onto her side and slid her knee over Varric’s hip, pressing their lower halves together in what she’d thought was a subtle move, but Varric wasn’t stupid.

Still, he wasn’t getting away from her that easily.

“Where would you start looking for a retired Grey Warden?” Hawke was as straight-faced as she could manage while rubbing herself against Varric’s half-hard cock. It was definitely on its way to rising to full mast.

Varric gave her a look, but he brushed a hand down her thigh and hitched her knee up higher before reaching between them and guiding himself to her entrance. He knew Hawke well enough to know that giving in would take far less time than resisting. He was already proving far easier to train than Snowflake, who still had a penchant for chewing on bedposts and Gamlen’s shoes. At least neither Varric nor Snowflake pissed on her to claim her as their property, which was a positive.

“From what I hear, this guy ran away from the Wardens. I don’t know what their policy is on deserting, but I imagine he’d want to lay low for a while.”

He rocked his hips into her and seated himself after a handful of thrusts. She grasped his shoulders and dug her nails in with a soft “Ah!” They were on their sides facing each other and Varric set a leisurely pace so they could talk uninterrupted, as if their lower halves had no bearing on the conversation whatsoever.

“There’s no Blight, so I can’t imagine the Wardens wasting their time coming all the way out to Kirkwall for one man,” Hawke reasoned a little breathlessly when Varric nudged her legs further apart with his knee. She curled one leg around his waist for leverage.

“Wardens are for life, though. If his commanders don’t take him, the blight disease eventually will.”

“That’s too bad. I heard the Hero of Ferelden was from Denerim and traveled through Lothering before it was overrun with darkspawn, though I never saw her myself. I guess even she won’t be - ah - immune to the disease in the end.”

Varric thrust into her hard enough for Hawke to nearly bite her tongue, but he grinned innocently when she glared at him. Hawke meant to say more but lost her train of thought when Varric rolled her over onto her back and followed without breaking contact once. He kept up the slow and steady pace and Hawke was perfectly happy to lie there and take every delicious second of it. He pressed his forehead between her breasts and Hawke rested her cheek against the top of his head. She buried one hand in his hair and wrapped her other arm around his back. Her legs curled around his hips, hugging him to her so closely that he could only rock in and out of her without withdrawing fully.

Pleasure coiled slowly in her belly like the tendrils of smoke before a fire ignited. Despite Varric’s earlier prodding, it seemed he wasn’t any more eager than she was to hurry things along. Hawke was perfectly content to linger here for the next few hours, or all day, if she could get away with acting a sloth and letting Varric do all the work. As if he could read her mind, Varric did _something_ , changed the angle or altered his tempo, because the fire Hawke was keeping banked suddenly roared to life.

Varric hissed when Hawke dragged her nails down his back to grab his ass. She spread her legs and squeezed his round, muscular buttocks, urging his hips along impatiently until he started pumping away with _feeling_. He flattened his hands against her shoulder blades and caught one of her nipples in his mouth, supporting her back when she arched her spine and cried out his name, or some garbled version of it.

Maker, she loved this. She’d never been with someone who made her _happy_ to be having sex rather than simply fulfilling a need or satisfying a curiosity or relieving boredom. Varric made her laugh as often as he made her want to punch his lights out and the combination was heady. He left her nipple soggy and slightly chewed-up and repeated the favor on the other one until she felt a little like Snowflake’s favorite shoe.

Hawke used her hands to pull Varric flush to her so he dragged against her throbbing clit with every stroke. Her fingers crept daringly toward his crack, but Varric pulled off her nipple and shot her a warning glare.

“Exit only,” he snapped, his expression transmitting in no uncertain terms that he was onto her shenanigans.

Hawke cracked up and wisely moved her hands back to their designated safe zone. She’d continue to push his buttons and press her advantage every chance she got, but they wouldn’t be best friends if he didn’t have his own defenses and at least three contingency plans for every likely course of action she was bound to take. Hawke knew Varric wasn’t going to let himself come before her again after all the shit she’d given him last night, so she didn’t try holding back as she felt her entire body, from her toes to her eyelids, start to lock up and her scalp begin to tingle.

“Fuck, Varric...” Hawke didn’t realize she was keening until she bit off a cry and launched into about twenty different variations of the word “fuck” as she started to come.

Varric couldn’t kiss her when they were fucking face to face like this, but Hawke had a filthy mouth and he probably wouldn’t want to anyway. He covered her chest and shoulders in kisses instead, easing her through her orgasm until she was quivering in his arms like any female love interest in one of his terrible stories.

“Good?” Varric barely restrained the smugness practically oozing from his pores. Like he even needed to ask.

“It was all right,” Hawke demurred, just to get his goat. “Five out of ten.”

“ _Five_?” Varric pushed up on his hands to glare at her which had the added effect of shoving his cock to the hilt inside of her.

Hawke bit back a whimper and squirmed away from the pressure on her still-sensitive clit. “Ah—F-Fine. Five point two. The dismount could use some work.”

“Oh, you’re asking for it.”

Varric pulled out and flipped Hawke over onto her belly in a ridiculous show of strength that did all kinds of things for her. He hauled her onto to her knees and plunged back in before she could catch herself from falling onto her face. Fortunately, a pillow was there to break her fall. She hugged her arms around the cushion and held on tight while Varric took her for a ride. She groaned into the pillow and then groaned louder when Varric’s palm landed on her ass with a solid _smack_. She’d bet anything he’d been wanting to do that since the first day they met.

Hawke wiggled her ass invitingly and Varric obliged. Hawke couldn’t pat her head and rub her belly at the same time, but Varric apparently had no problems multitasking. He alternated smacks with his hands in an irregular rhythm on her cheeks and thighs while his balls slapped against her without a hitch as he pounded away. Her skin stung and burned pleasantly and she started to drift in a haze of pain-tinged pleasure, but Varric didn’t let her get too far away. He’d add a little extra _oomph_ behind a slap that jolted her forward until he gripped her hip with his other hand and yanked her back onto his dick.

“Pull…pull my hair,” Hawke gasped, because why the fuck not?

Varric groaned and complied, fisting her short hair and pulling it taut so Hawke was forced to scramble up on her hands and knees and arch her neck like a show pony. Varric was certainly riding her like one. She half-choked on a laugh at the image that produced of prancing ponies decked out with flowing ribbons and harnesses chiming with silver bells she’d once seen on parade.

“I don’t want to know what’s going on inside that head of yours,” Varric said disparagingly, but his voice was edged with humor. He couldn’t not smile whenever Hawke laughed, even if it was at his own expense.

“Just wondering when you plan on fitting me with tack and a harness,” Hawke said.

“I’m thinking a gag would be better at this point.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Hey, I’m loads of fun.” Varric sounded strained in a way that meant he was close.

Maker, she loved that she knew what he sounded like when he was about to come.

Hawke clenched her thighs together and reached for his hand in her hair, lacing their fingers together as he leaned forward like an honest-to-Andraste jockey in the last sprint of a race. Hawke didn’t have breath enough to make fun of him for that as he untangled his hand so Hawke was left fisting her own hair. He gripped her hips and nearly crushed her into the bed as he came with a shout.

“And the winner by a nose…” Hawke said, voice muffled by the pillow in her face.

“What?” Varric grumbled into her shoulder.

Hawke was saved from trying to explain when something banged against the door and both of them jumped. Varric rolled off her and grabbed Bianca from only the Maker knew where and had the crossbow aimed at the door before Hawke had even pushed herself onto her side. She gave herself points for not falling off the bed that time. 

A second thump came from the door, but before Varric could shoot whoever was on the other side, Isabela’s harangued voice came through the wood. “Give it a break, you two! It’s not even afternoon yet!”

They both glanced at each other. Varric lowered Bianca slowly, but Hawke noticed he didn’t put the weapon away which meant shooting Isabela wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility yet.

“Go away!” Hawke yelled.

“Well, we had to get up sooner or later.” Varric rolled his eyes and finally put down Bianca in favor of giving himself a quick wipe down with his discarded tunic before digging out clean clothes to put on.

“Keep this up and I’ll put itching powder in your drawers!” Isabela called as if she’d never kept either of them awake with her loud conquests – either tales of them or during the actual act.

“I don’t think you can use powder as an excuse for itching, Rivaini,” Varric called back. “You might want to see a healer about that!”

He was fully dressed when he opened the door, to Isabela’s likely disappointment. He slipped through and shut the door behind him before she could poke her head in and catch a glimpse of Hawke’s bare ass, who had yet to get out of bed. Hawke heard both their footsteps move away from the door and grabbed Varric’s shirt to scrub herself down with since she’d broken Varric’s wash basin. There weren’t many options for cleaning up, unfortunately, unless she wanted to haul buckets of cold water up and down the stairs to fill up Varric’s bathtub, which she didn’t.

Hawke cleaned up the mess of Varric’s destroyed nightstand, which actually meant shoving everything into one corner for him to throw out later. She hoped Varric had this room insured. Hawke was almost ninety-two percent certain Seneschal Bran was in the process of having Hawke officially branded a walking human disaster, which would already be her title if not for all the red tape and paperwork involved. She eventually hunted down her clothing and armor, but couldn’t find her smallclothes or her left sock. It wouldn’t be the first time she went commando, though it was far less comfortable when she was still wet and slick between her legs.

While Hawke waited for Varric to return, hopefully with breakfast, she emptied the contents of her coin purse on the bed and sorted out the Wicked Grace cards, setting them aside in a neat stack before arranging the coins into piles and counting them out. There were far more copper bits than silvers since they played for fun rather than for high stakes. The only gold was Isabela’s necklace, which Hawke would probably hold hostage until she needed a favor.

Or it might even come in handy for bribes, she thought a few hours later when the three of them were out roaming the streets trying to track down the elusive Grey Warden. They picked up Aveline on the way, who had apparently borrowed Snowflake to patrol with her, and lost Isabela somewhere around the Red Lantern District. Hawke desperately wanted to fuck off and follow her, but Varric tucked his hand possessively around hers when they passed by the Blooming Rose and all thoughts of running away fled while Hawke fought – and failed – not to grin like an idiot.

After half a dozen false leads, they finally ended their run around at Lirene’s Fereldan Imports, who was rumored to know how to contact the Grey Warden. A line of people nearly out the door shouted their pleas for healing or assistance but Hawke, Varric, Aveline, and Snowflake shoved their way to the front of the line despite protests. A sharp look combined with their blatant display of weaponry and Snowflake’s warning growl silenced most of the protests into disparaging grumbles.

Lirene herself certainly wasn’t impressed.

“No one came from Ferelden without trouble, but I can’t give priority to anyone who’s already found work and lodging,” she said, though her tone was professional as she starting shooing Hawke aside.

“I hear you know where I can find a Fereldan Grey Warden,” Hawke said conversationally, refusing to budge but trying politeness on for size.

“Only Fereldan Grey Warden I’ve heard of slew the Archdemon to save us all. We’re out of the Blight’s path now. Why would you need a Warden?”

A woman they’d cut in line piped up. “The healer was one of them once, wasn’t he? A Warden?”

Lirene glared at her. “Well, he’s not now. And busy enough without answering fool questions about it.”

“Listen, lady.” Varric unhooked Bianca and setting the crossbow down on the counter between them. It worked equally well as either a threat or as a show of being unarmed, depending on his tone. So far, the gesture was one of peace. “My girlfriend and I have had a _very_ long day looking all over the city for this Warden. We promise not to hurt him. We only want to ask him a few questions.”

“Girlfriend, huh?” Hawke raised an eyebrow and leaned her hip against the counter as she smirked at him.

“Eh.” Varric shrugged. “’Partners’ sounds too clinical. Fuckbuddies is crass and _‘paramours’_...just no. It’s too frou-frou even for me.”

“I didn’t realize we’d moved onto labels.”

“Everything has labels, Hawke. People get twitchy when things don’t fit into neat little boxes.”

“But I like it when people get...twitchy.”

“Do we really have time for this now?” Aveline interrupted. “Look,” she said, turning to Lirene. “Either you tell us now or I’ll have to issue a warrant to shut this place down until we get some answers. I respect what you’re doing here and the last thing I want is to delay these people in receiving aid.”

Hawke propped her elbow on the counter and her chin on her fist as she turned to Lirene, who had been watching their exchange with pinched lips. Lirene frowned at Aveline’s threat but didn’t seem to be budging. Hawke narrowed her eyes and stared her down, but still Lirene didn’t give an inch. Hawke respected people with a backbone, but less so when it inconvenienced her.

“Listen, I get it.” Hawke softened her stance and tried a different approach. “Fereldans out here get the shit end of the stick and if someone’s helping them then I certainly don’t want to get in the way of that. I promise we only want to talk to this healer of yours. Nothing more.”

“If he has done nothing wrong then he has nothing to fear.” Aveline sounded more threatening than reassuring. Hawke scowled at her for screwing up her nice guy routine.

“I suppose it isn’t my secret to keep. Anders has certainly been free enough with his services,” Lirene said reluctantly.

“Now we’re getting somewhere.” Varric picked up Bianca and holstered the crossbow on his back. “And where would we find Anders, exactly?”

“Refugees in Darktown know...to find the healer, look for the lit lantern. If you have need enough, Anders will be within.”

It sounded like some hocus pocus bullshit to Hawke, but it was the most solid lead they’d gotten all day. More than a few refugees and Darktowners took exception to the suspicious party looking to interrogate their healer once Hawke and company had left the shop. Hawke hated to put them down but they weren’t the sort to listen to reason. She figured making an example of them now would stay the hand of those lingering on the sidelines or around the corners.

Darktown itself wasn’t a basket of roses, but enough people down there were familiar enough with her reputation to stay away from their party. Except for those who didn’t. Hawke wasn’t above making a few more examples of them either. They found the lanterns Lirene had mention after too long wandering the confusing pathways and levels; bright beacons in the oppressive darkness that had no doubt given Darktown its name. There was a pair of doors framed by the lanterns and Hawke entered through the right one without so much as knocking. Hopefully, if there was anyone in there they at least had their pants on.

The first thing she saw upon entering was three people surrounding the form of a young boy lying motionless upon a table while a lantern dimly illuminated the workspace. Even more brightly glowed the hands of a man with light auburn hair as the unmistakable casting of a spell swept over the body of his patient. Hawke didn’t try to interfere, familiar enough with Bethany’s talents to intuit the magic was being used to help, not harm. Her suspicions were proven correct when the boy let out a gasp and struggled to sit up. He was helped by the older man and woman - most likely his parents - who rushed to his side with tears in their eyes.

The mage stumbled but the boy’s father steadied him with a hand on his shoulder while the woman helped their son down from the table. The family skirted cautiously around Hawke’s group once everyone was steady on their feet, leaving them with the healer who currently had his back to them with a hand pressed to his head.

“You’re a mage,” Hawke said, not one to miss a chance to state the obvious. 

All of the dead ends they’d hit and Lirene’s reluctance to give Anders’ location away made so much more sense, especially if he was trying to keep out of the templars’ reach while openly using magic like this. Before Hawke could react, the mage - Anders? - reached for the staff she hadn’t noticed propped against the wall and swung it out toward their party. He was wearing a coat with more feathers than a Feastday turkey and looked thin and weary beneath it as he turned to face them.

He certainly wasn’t lacking in spirit, though, as he raised his hand as if to stop them and called out, “I have made this place a sanctum of healing and salvation! Why do you threaten it?”

“I want to know about the Deep Roads.” Hawke was more than happy to skip the formalities and get right to business.

The mage’s hand lowered and he adjusted his stance, though not his aggressive tone. “Did the Wardens send you to bring me back?” he demanded. “I’m not going. Those bastards made me get rid of my cat. Poor Sir Pouncealot...he hated the Deep Roads.”

“You...had a cat named Sir Pouncealot?” Hawke said dubiously. “In the Deep Roads?”

The dog at her side whined and nudged her hand. Oh, right. She had a mabari named Snowflake after all, so it wasn’t like she had any room to judge.

“It was a _gift_. A noble beast. Almost got ripped in half by a genlock once,” he said in apparently fond remembrance. “He swatted the bugger on the nose. Drew blood, too! The blighted Wardens said he made me too soft. I had to give him to a friend in Amaranthine.”

“So...you came to Kirkwall because the Wardens took your cat? Obviously, you made the only rational decision you possibly could in that sort of situation.”

“You say that like it’s a small thing! Yes. I’m here because there’s no Warden outpost, no darkspawn, and a whole host of refugees to blend in with. And...some reasons of my own.”

“I always heard joining the Wardens is for life,” Hawke said. “Someone must not have read the fine print…”

“That’s only...partly true,” the mage shrugged. “The ‘hopelessly tainted by the darkspawn and plagued by nightmares about the Archdemon’ parts don’t go away. But it turns out if you hide well you don’t have to wear the uniform or go to the parties.”

Hawke could appreciate a man with a sense of humor.

“I’m sure you’d look very pretty in a dress,” she said politely.

“Hate to tell you this, Hawke, but he’s already wearing one,” Varric stage-whispered, referring, of course, to the mage’s torn and filthy robes.

The mage - who had more or less identified himself as the Anders they’d been looking for through his confession of being a Warden and was thereby Anders from that point on regardless of whether or not it was his actual name - didn’t seem to take offense. Hawke didn’t want to overstay their welcome despite such a warm reception and the cozy accommodations, so she cut right to the chase.

“I need to know how to get into the Deep Roads. You can tell me willingly...or not.”

“Don’t threaten me, little girl,” Anders said, which, oddly enough, sent a thrill up Hawke’s spine. Good. She _liked_ them feisty, she thought as she fingered the hilt of her blade.

“You can’t imagine what I’d come through to get here. I’m not interested—“ Anders cut himself off abruptly and cocked his head in consideration. “Although... A favor for a favor. Does that sound like a fair deal? You help me, I’ll help you.”

“I know what a deal is,” Hawke said.

“According to your Wicked Grace record, that’s negligible,” Varric muttered.

“Shut it, dwarf. You know what? Forget it. We’ll get to the Deep Roads ourselves.”

Hawke turned to storm out of the depressing hole in the ground the Warden had shacked up in. She was desperate to breathe air not mired in sewage and the particular tang of extreme poverty like spoiled milk, cabbage, and despair that she knew only too well.

“Wait,” Anders called like she half suspected he would. She didn’t skip out on those play-acting lessons for nothing. Clearly, she was a natural negotiator.

“I have a Warden map of the depths in this area, but there’s a price.”

...Or maybe not as good a negotiator as she thought. Hawke crossed her arms over her chest as she turned back and waited for Anders’ conditions while he paced.

“I came to Kirkwall to aid a friend. A mage. A prisoner in the wretched Gallows. The templars learned of my plans to free him... Help me bring him safely past them and you shall have your maps.”

Hawke lifted her chin and considered him. Varric nudged her hip and when she glanced down at him he flicked his eyes toward Anders. Hawke got the message loud and clear: _Play nice._ She rolled her eyes but lowered her arms to her sides.

“...Tell me about your friend,” Hawke sighed. She wondered if there was a place nearby where she could get a drink and a place to sit down for a while. She eyed the bloody table with a drainage hole cut out of it the boy had been laying on and reconsidered the sitting down part, though not the drink. She’d need two after this, just to start.

“His name is Karl Thekla...” 

It was the beginning of a long and expectantly depressing tale that ended up with Hawke promising to meet Anders at the Chantry that night in order to take Karl back from the templars. Back on the surface, Hawke couldn’t wait to take in a breath of fresh Lowtown air and nearly coughed up a lung in the process. The city didn’t smell much better above ground than it did below, especially this close to the sewers and docks. At least there was a faint breeze that moved the acrid air around rather than letting it fester and stagnate. She turned to Aveline and Varric when she caught her breath and rested her hands on her hips with a quirk of her mouth. 

“You two heard the mage. Are you in tonight or do I need to blackmail one of the others into walking into what is obviously a trap with me?”

“I can’t let you have all the fun alone,” Varric shrugged. “Count me in.”

“I’ll need to shift a few patrols around but I’ll be there tonight, Hawke,” Aveline said.

Snowflake barked and Hawke crouched down to pat his head. “Atta boy, Snow.” When she stood up again, she cupped a hand to her brow and squinted at the sun which was positioned about three fingers from the horizon.

“We have a few hours left until nightfall. Let’s plan to meet at the west gate in Hightown an hour before we’re due to meet Anders just in case there are any guards or templars around that we need to avoid. The less attention we draw to ourselves the better.”

“I can minimize the guards,” Aveline said, “but there’s not much we can do about the templars or anyone else lurking around the area. We’ll have to be on alert.”

Hawke expected her to leave after that, but Aveline only switched her weight from foot to foot, looking suspiciously shifty.

“You have something you want to get off your chest, Aveline?” Varric prodded.

“The mage. Anders. Do you think he can be trusted?”

“Not as far as I can throw him,” Varric laughed. “But we need those maps and right now he’s our best bet. You’re not getting cold feet on us now, are you?”

“No...but what he said back there. About the Circle turning a dozen mages tranquil as punishment? If it’s actually true a scandal like that could cause problems for a lot of people, and not just the ones in the Gallows. We could have the Grand Cleric or even the Divine herself come down on all our heads, including the Guard. I won’t put my men at risk if this goes tits up.”

“Who are you more worried about, Aveline?” Hawke said, crossing her arms over her chest. “The mages or the Chantry losing their control over them?”

“I don’t know yet. Meredith’s methods are extreme, I’ll give you that, but even I can’t believe she’d go above the Chantry on this. Something about the whole situation smells rotten to me.”

“I think that’s Corff’s seafood special from Friday you’re getting a whiff of,” Varric joked. “Relax. We’ll handle things and get to the bottom of Blondie’s little problem.”

“Oh great, you’ve already named him? You can’t take him home, Varric. The poor thing probably has fleas," Hawke said.

“Funny, Hawke. I seem to recall someone saying the same thing to you about Snowflake.”

“Who’s only the smartest, most amazing puppy ever!” Hawke said in a ridiculous baby voice as she ruffled Snowflake’s tapered ears and enthusiastically patted his flanks until he was wriggling and yipping and bounding around her in circles. “Who’s a good boy? Yes, you are!”

“Hawke, that ‘puppy’ weighs more than you do. And that’s saying something.”

“Did you just call me fat, Varric?” Hawke demanded.

Snowflake stopped abruptly and lowered his ears flat against his skull as he growled, but Varric only had to tap him on the nose and he dropped into a crouch, tail stub wagging.

“Eh…I think ‘sturdy’ or ‘well-rounded’ is a better descriptor.”

Varric was full of shit.

“You are full of shit,” Hawke said. She jabbed a finger into his chest and glared, gratified when he winced. He had been complaining about her bony elbows and knees poking him just last night.

“If you two are done, I’m going to swing by the barracks to inform Brennan and Donnic of the change in rounds,” Aveline said. “I’ll keep the guard on the west side light tonight, but I can’t do it every time we need to stage an illegal break-in.”

“I wouldn’t ask you to compromise your integrity, Aveline,” Hawke said.

“We both know that’s a lie, Hawke.” Aveline actually smiled. “But I can decide for myself how far is too far. Let’s just not make a habit of it.”

“Thanks.”

Hawke and Varric returned to his rooms at the Hanged Man without even needing to consult first while Snowflake trotted along behind them, apparently done patrolling for the day. He shoved his way through the door before Varric could push it all the way open. He did his usual inspection that involved sniffing everything in the room. He sneezed when he got to the bed before he went to curl up on a rug in front of the fireplace.

Hawke couldn’t contain the noise she made when she noticed Varric’s bath had been filled with water while they’d been out. She darted over to the wide stone basin to trail her fingers over the clear surface of the water, utterly enchanted by the prospect of a real, actual bath. He must have ordered it before they’d left that morning, which had to have cost a small fortune. There were even two buckets of water left warming over a brazier to cut in with the room-temperature water in the tub when they were ready to bathe.

“I hope you’re not planning to jump in with full armor.” Varric shut the door and started to shrug out of his duster. He looked utterly pleased with himself for her reaction, but she supposed he’d earned it this time.

“It depends.” She watched him like a hawk – ha! - as he peeled off his gloves by tugging on the tip of each finger, one by one.

“On...?”

“Whether or not you want to get dirty before or after the bath.”

It was Hawke’s turn to be smug when he ripped off his gloves and tossed them - and the rest of his clothing - aside in record time.

* * *

“A midnight rendezvous! A daring rescue! Uniting two star-crossed lovers torn apart by fate! What’s not to get excited about, Hawke?”

“Wait, you think Anders and his friend are...you know. Together?”

“How should I know?”

“You just said!”

“I was setting up the scene, Hawke. You should know that about me by now.”

Hawke smacked a hand against Varric’s bare chest, the hair there curly from their bath. Snowflake had nearly broken down the door in his attempt to flee when Hawke suggested they give him a bath as well, so it was only them two alone in the room now. They lounged on top of Varric’s bed without having bothered to put on any clothes or pull the blankets over them even though their nipples pebbled with the bite of chill air against their damp skin, legs tangled loosely together.

“Well, I guess he did escape the Wardens and come all the way to Kirkwall to rescue the guy. That must be love…or else he’s a really, _really_ good lay.”

“It’s a relief to know that’s all the requirements necessary for you to come to the rescue if I ever wind up getting kidnapped and held for ransom.”

“Are you kidding? I’d pay them to keep you.”

“You wound me, Hawke. Deeply. Right here.” Varric caught Hawke’s hand with his own and rested them both over his heart.

The giant sap.

Varric caught her eye and Hawke felt as if the conversation had shifted at some point when she wasn’t looking. He only confirmed this suspicion when his gaze went soft and he brought her hand up to his lips. Her breath hitched and she was suddenly, achingly aware of their proximity and their complete lack of clothing.

Despite the buckets of hot water, the bath had still been too tepid for true decadence. Clean up had been more perfunctory than anything else, but Varric washing her hair and then taking her to bed to make out for a couple hours without actually having sex was more intimate than anything Hawke had ever done in her life. The way he was looking at her now only reinforced that this thing between them, whatever labels they wanted to slap on it, was about more than just sex.

Varric had the audacity to stare into her eyes when he said, softly and with the utmost sincerity, “Maker, Hawke... You are the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen.”

Hawke stiffened, feeling her eyes widen and nostrils flare in a momentary attack of panic, but ducked her head to hide how flustered she was. If he was trying to get a rise out of her, he was succeeding.

“Right. Like I believe that one.” She snorted and tugged her hand away, curling it against her chest in what was probably a protective gesture, in hindsight. Like anyone could actually guard their heart that way. 

“Would I lie to you, Hawke?” Varric said, still watching her. She really wished he wouldn’t. Watch her, that is.

It...bothered her that she didn’t actually know the answer to what was obviously supposed to be a rhetorical question. Hawke lied to him all the time, of course, but he saw right through her clear as glass and never hesitated to call her out on her bullshit, so it didn’t actually count. Varric, on the other hand, was a self-professed liar and took pride in his ability to talk himself out situations of all kind and still come out on top.

She must have hesitated too long, because he said in a slow, teasing voice like he was feeding her the correct response, “The answer we’re looking for here is ‘no’. Seriously, Hawke?”

“Well, how would I know?” Hawke snapped, pulling away to sit up in bed with her body angled slightly away. “Maybe you just say that to all the pretty girls.”

She tried to make her tone light in a desperate bid to save face, but she knew better than to think she could get anything past him. He took pity on her, thankfully, and didn’t call Hawke out on her poor attempt at deflection.

“Not all the pretty girls could split me from groin to ear with a paring knife.” Varric's tone matched hers for lightness and succeeded far better.

“Ah, so it’s out of self-preservation then. I’m glad we cleared that up before anything got too...complicated.”

Bitterness got the best of her before she could catch it and squash it. She was always ruining the good things in her life, and apparently Varric would be no exception. Hawke swung her legs over the edge of the bed and started to rummage for her clothing on the floor, glad to have her back to him so she couldn’t see whatever expression was - or wasn’t - on his face while she silently had a mental breakdown.

“Hawke, you and complicated go hand in hand, but that’s what I like about you. You keep all of us, including myself, guessing.”

“Some people would call that being inconsistent or unreliable, Varric.”

“Then ‘some people’ can go fuck themselves. You are who you are, Hawke. Believe me, I knew what I was getting into when I asked you to become a partner for the Deep Roads expedition. Nothing’s changed since we became partners in the more literal sense.”

When Hawke glanced over her shoulder with a sock halfway rolled over her foot, Varric was reclined against the pillows and watching her with a measured expression. She appreciated that he wasn’t clingy and didn’t draw attention to the fact she was clearly fleeing the scene at the first whiff of feelings. Hawke was only halfway to being considered acceptable for human consumption and still needed handlers prior to being set loose upon the unsuspecting denizens of the city, but she was getting there. Slowly, with as many setbacks as there was progression, but Varric at least wasn’t trying to make her into something she wasn’t.

She didn’t want to be like this, a person who spoke better with her knives than her words and ran headlong into disaster heedless of the fallout.

“Tonight. Chantry. Don’t be late.” Hawke paused at the door when she was dressed to make sure she had all of her weapons. She’d worn the same clothing for the past few days and wanted to burn everything rather than pull the slightly rank, scratchy material on over her clean skin, but she needed to hide behind her armor and the daggers strapped across her back more than she needed a fresh pair of smalls, which she’d pick up from Gamlen’s before meeting Anders later that night.

No way was she taking on templars while going commando.

“I’ll be there, Hawke.” Varric didn’t say anything else, but he wouldn’t need to in order to convince her to stay.

Hawke left before she could be convinced anyway.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author’s Note: THIS CHAPTER WILL CONTAIN EXCESSIVE AMOUNTS OF BLOOD, GORE, AND VIOLENCE!!! 
> 
> ...And I'm pretty sure Snowflake eats someone(s).
> 
> You have been warned.

"You're up to something, Marian," Bethany said, causing Hawke to jump when she entered Gamlen’s house thinking no one was home. She hadn't seen Bethany apparently lurking in wait. "Whatever it is, I'm coming."

Bethany was decked out in the chainmail armor she'd worn in the Red Iron with Hawke, face set with the infamous brand of stubbornness only a Hawke could manage. Hawke shook her head. She didn’t plan on giving into Bethany on this even though she knew her sister had only ever been an asset in fights. If what Anders said about mages in the Circle being locked up and turned Tranquil was even remotely true, Hawke was all the more determined to keep Bethany out of the Gallows.

"Not a chance, Bethy. Not this one."

"I'm tired of you always keeping me in the dark about everything! I can help. I _want_ to help."

Hawke strode past her and into their room, pretending not to hear her as she stripped down and pulled on relatively clean smallclothes and a breastband from the trunk at the end of their bunk bed. Bethany stood in the doorway and watched her, arms crossed over her chest.

"You can't protect me from everything!"

"Watch me."

"You're being irrational! We used take dangerous jobs from Meeran together all the time. I don't see how now is any different. You're gone so often that I—“ Bethany stopped and leaned forward to peer at Hawke more closely. “What's that mark on your neck? Wait, you have them all over your body! Hold on...stay still! Let me see."

Bethany moved away from the door and caught Hawke by the shoulder, forcing her to stop before she could pull a shirt on over her head. Dammit, she'd forgotten how prone she was to bruising and Varric hadn't been at all shy about marking her up. Hawke sighed and let Bethany's gaze rake her over, soft brown eyes growing wider and wider as realization dawned on her.

"Marian! You're _seeing_ someone! Why didn't you tell me?"

"I don't have to tell you everything. Now, will you please get out of my way so I can put some pants on?"

"Not until you tell me where you're going."

Hawke groaned and shoved past Bethany gently. She grabbed her leather armor and weapons belt, carrying the lot out into the living room to finish getting dressed there. "You can't come this time, Bethany," Hawke said when she followed, as tenacious as a shadow.

"I'm not a child anymore, Marian. Do you think keeping me locked away at Gamlen's is any better than if I were locked away in a Circle? I’m starting to think I would almost prefer it."

"I’m going to the Chantry,” Hawke snapped. She yanked on the buckles to her chestplate before smearing fresh kaddis across the bridge of her nose, covering the light dusting of freckles. “This isn't some game! If one templar even suspects you of using magic I won't be able to stop them from taking you right there."

"I won't use magic. Look. I won't even bring my staff."

Bethany held her empty hands out to her sides to display the daggers strapped to each hip that had once belonged to Hawke before she had won her current ones off Isabela. She couldn’t remember what Isabela had named them – The Bodice Ripper I and II, or something equally ridiculous – but Hawke didn’t need to know what they were called as long as they did their job. Which was stabbing people. Bethany was almost as good with her daggers as Hawke was, though neither of them were nearly as skilled as Isabela with Bloodletter and Heartbreaker.

"No one will find out about me," Bethany swore.

"You wouldn't say that if you knew what templars are capable of."

"I'll be _careful_ , sister. I promise. Please let me help."

Hawke sighed, rubbing her forehead with a low, frustrated growl. She didn't have time to argue. The sun had already set when she'd left the Hanged Man and she needed to leave now if she was going to get to Hightown in time to meet Varric and Aveline.

"Fine, Bethany, but no magic. You do as I say and as soon as it looks like things are about to go to shit you run, got that?"

"Yes, yes. Now can we go? I wouldn't want us to be late."

"Shit, this is a bad idea," Hawke muttered. She took in Bethany's eager expression, her armor, and the daggers that had formerly belonged to Hawke so she knew they were good. She sighed. "If nothing else, it'll give you a preview of what might happen if you get caught, so you'll see why we've been trying so hard to keep you out of the Circle."

"We've always had to run from templars because of me. I'm tired of being a burden. I want to help," Bethany repeated firmly.

"Help me by not getting caught."

Snowflake was lying outside the door when they left the house and hopped to his feet with an excited bark when he saw both Hawke and Bethany emerge decked out in armor.

"Ready to eat some templars, boy?" Hawke crooned at him, patting his head and grinning when Snowflake barked out an affirmative.

"Really, Marian? And you worry about me getting into trouble with templars."

"I have no idea what you mean."

Gamlen's house was pretty much as far as one could get from Hightown while still managing to be in Kirkwall. Hawke's calves were burning from the uphill climb, reminding her of other aches in the lower regions of her body that were a far more pleasant memory. The difference in the slums from the upper echelons of the city was mind-boggling every time. Hightown boasted clean, paved streets, vibrant foliage purposefully arranged for aesthetics and tall buildings with beautifully crafted stonework. There was nary a refugee or beggar to be seen.

Hawke stuck out like a sore thumb.

She smirked as an older couple gave them a wide berth as they hurried past on their way back to their fancy estate from the market. Even in Hightown most people knew better than to stay out past nightfall unless they wanted to draw the attention of muggers or gangs. Aveline had been true to her word and the usual patrols around the west gate were notably absent when they approached.

"I can't believe Mother used to live here," Bethany said, voice melancholy as she stared around the courtyard. "She told me she wishes she'd died with Carver. It's like coming here ruined every good memory of her childhood. I wish we could get some of it back."

"If the Deep Roads expedition turns out like planned, we might even be able to buy back the family estate that Gamlen lost. That's actually why we're here. There's a Grey Warden who knows how to get into the Deep Roads but I had to agree to help him with a small matter before he hands over his maps."

"Help him...at the Chantry?" Bethany said as she realized where Hawke was leading them. "All that talk about templars... He's a mage, isn't he?"

"Shh!" Hawke hissed, looking around to make sure they weren't overheard. "Yes, he's a mage. He has a friend who was brought to the Gallows from Ferelden's Circle and we're planning on getting him back from the templars tonight."

"But why are we at the Chantry? Mages are kept--"

"There you are, Hawke. I was starting to think you weren't going to come," Aveline said, sounding irritated and a little out of breath as she jogged toward them. "Oh, you brought Bethany, too."

"Hello, Aveline," Bethany greeted. Snowflake barked, wagging his tail stub.

"Any sign of Varric or Anders?" Hawke asked, keeping her voice down and staying close to the wall as a pair of templars walked by and continued past the Chantry, nearly silent despite their heavy armor.

"Right behind you," Varric said, practically in her ear. Hawke prided herself in not jumping. Much. "It must be our lucky night. I didn't realize we were being graced by _both_ Hawke sisters. Welcome to the party, Sunshine! Glad to see Hawke still lets you out occasionally."

Hawke attempted to say something appropriately witty and flirtatious, as opposed to _inappropriately_ witty and flirtatious, but her tongue stuck to the roof of her mouth when she recalled how abruptly she'd left him a couple hours ago. She ended up blurting instead, "Anders?"

"Here," Anders said, appearing from around a hedge and dusting leaves from his robes. He gave a brand new meaning to the term 'hedge witch'. Hawke had to bite back a snicker.

"This is your sister, Hawke?" he asked. He looked at Bethany with an interest Hawke didn't care for at all.

"No time for introductions," Hawke said sharply, glaring a warning at Anders.

"You're right." Anders’ eyebrows lowered and his voice became grim. "I saw Karl go inside a couple minutes ago."

The group approached the front doors to the Chantry in pairs in order to avoid suspicion. Hawke and Anders reached the top of the stairs first with Bethany and Snowflake behind them and Aveline and Varric lingering back near the bottom to make sure they weren’t followed.

"No templars so far," Anders observed. "Are you ready?"

"I didn't see anyone suspicious out here," Hawke said when the rest of the group caught up to them and gathered around the front doors to the enormous cathedral. "Let's do this fast."

"All right. I'll handle the talking, you watch for templars," Anders said.

The Chantry seemed even more grandiose from the inside. There were giant statues holding lanterns on either side of the entry hall while dozens of candles and sconces illuminated their way with a gentle light. The building was eerily quiet this time of night when all of the usual worshippers and Chantry staff had gone. Anders led them up the right side staircase and to an alcove where a man in robes stood with his back to them.

Karl, then, Hawke surmised by the way Anders' shoulders sagged with relief upon seeing him.

"Anders, I know you too well," Karl said without even looking around. He spoke in a strange, deadened tone. "I knew you would never give up."

"What's wrong?” Anders asked, stepping forward. “Why are you talking like--"

Karl turned around. He was older than Hawke had been expecting, hair and beard well on its way to greying, though still quite handsome. It wasn't until Anders gasped that Hawke realized Karl had a bright red brand on his forehead in the shape of a sunburst - the unmistakable sign of a mage who'd been made Tranquil.

"I was too rebellious, like you," Karl said in the same monotone that made much more sense considering he had been severed from his magic and all emotion. "The templars knew I had to be...made an example of."

"No!" Anders said, nearly a sob.

"How else will mages ever master themselves? You'll understand, Anders..." Karl looked past Anders' shoulder and they all turned to see several templars in full armor approaching with swords and shields at the ready. "...As soon as the templars teach you to control yourself."

Karl pointed Anders out to the templars with no hesitation. "This is the apostate."

"No!" Anders yelled.

For an instant, Hawke could have sworn his eyes flashed blue before he fell to his knees and clutched at his head. She was about to reach for him when energy exploded out him and nearly knocked off her feet. When he stood, his skin was crackling with a bright blue light that pulsed in a visible aura around him.

"YOU WILL NEVER TAKE ANOTHER MAGE AS YOU TOOK HIM!" An otherworldly voice boomed out of Anders and Hawke's heart sunk.

Oh fuck. He was an _abomination_.

So much for star-crossed lovers, Hawke thought as she reached for her daggers. Not only did they have to deal with the templars but now Hawke had a demon-possessed mage on her hands. The shit she got herself dragged into these days was beyond belief. She deflected the nearest templar's blow as he lunged forward, darting beneath his shield to stab her blade into his belly. She rolled to avoid a sword that streaked down toward her head and came behind another templar who was about to sneak up on Bethany.

"Watch out!" she shouted, but Bethany had already seen him and leapt back before taking a swipe with her own blade.

She missed, but Hawke didn't.

The templar's scream cut off into a wet gurgle as Hawke's blades plunged into his back, angling up for his heart and lungs. Hawke kicked him away and he landed at Bethany's feet in a sprawl. Bethany had both of her daggers drawn now and she gestured sharply as more templars approached from both staircases.

"I've got it, Marian. Now go!"

Hawke hesitated. She didn’t want to leave Bethany to defend herself but her sister was a blur of motion and had already downed another templar on her own.

"Go!" Bethany said again, stabbing a templar through the shoulder and forcing the woman to drop her sword with an agonized shout.

Hawke growled before she turned and threw herself into the fray. Varric was picking off templars one by one with his crossbow while Aveline and Snowflake had placed themselves in the thickest cluster of templars to fight them head-on. Hawke lost sight of Anders and spared a second to hope he didn't turn on them before she started attacking templars that came too close to cutting down one of her companions. She aimed to cripple through weak points in their armor and once down Snowflake finished them off by ripping out their throats in a torrent of blood and screams.

…Perhaps she didn't feed him enough.

Aveline was holding her own just fine, a whirlwind of flaming hair and battle cries that alternately chilled or bolstered morale depending on whose side they were on. Hawke glanced around and saw that Varric had back himself against a tall pillar and was cursing, apparently out of bolts to fire, as a templar bore down on him. Hawke didn't even think. She pinched the tip of her blade with her thumb and forefinger, drew it back to her ear, and threw it with force enough to punch through the back of the templar's helmet, burying her dagger to the hilt.

Varric looked more impressed than rattled when the templar dropped to his knees and then toppled over, revealing Hawke standing right behind him.

"Nice throw, gorgeous!" Varric called, waving before he darted down to yank a bolt from the body to reload into Bianca and fire off again.

"Saving your ass is what I'm here for, handsome!" Hawke called back.

He'd be playing chase the arrow after this, but he seemed to have the situation handled. He ran about retrieving his bolts and throwing pitch bombs. The bombs exploded into flames that raced up the templars' robes and consumed everything within them. Soon, the air was thick with smoke, screams, and the acrid stench of charred flesh, filling Hawke's sinuses and the back of her throat until she had to fight the reflex to gag. She finally caught sight of Anders when the smoke cleared. His staff was almost invisible as he spun it expertly in his hands and shot off spell after spell. The weird blue light was gone but his amber eyes still sparked with fury as he froze a templar solid and then smashed the resulting statue to pieces with his staff before whirling on another and electrocuting them with a different spell.

The number of templars still alive had been halved and Hawke counted the fight close to being over. The second she had that thought, however, a blinding white light filled the area as two templars cast Smite at the same time. Both Anders and Bethany cried out before they dropped like a sack of bricks, unconscious.

"Bethany!" Hawke roared. She shoved a templar so hard that he stumbled into the banister behind him and flipped over backward, falling down to the level below. Hawke didn't wait to hear the impact as she leapt over several bodies and skidded onto her knees next to Bethany's side. She ripped off her gauntlet and Bethany's neck kerchief as she quickly searched for a pulse. She nearly collapsed with a cry when she felt a tiny flutter against her fingertips, weak but there.

"Shit, shit, shit!" Varric swore as he ran over, eyes wide. "I saw the Smite. Is Sunshine...?"

"Alive. Barely, but _fuck_! I knew she shouldn't have come!"

"Heads up, Hawke!" Aveline shouted, face red from both blood and exertion.

Hawke brought her remaining dagger up just in time to catch a templar's sword before it could plunge into Bethany's chest. Hawke gave an enraged shout and shoved upward as hard as she could, pushing herself to her feet. The tip of the templar's sword cut into her cheek as she deflected the weapon away and the flash of pain made Hawke see red. She made a fist around the hilt of her dagger and punched the templar so hard his helmet spun all the way around. She felt a few of her fingers break from the impact. She was about to hit him a second time, broken fingers be damned, when he suddenly jerked back as one of Varric's bolts hit him square in the chest at close-range.

The templar staggered and nearly tripped over Anders' prone body. He didn't go down until Snowflake leapt upon his back from out of nowhere and dragged him to the ground, savaging him brutally on the way down.

She was getting him _all_ the treats after this.

"Ah!" Hawke let out a sharp cry as her pain receptors suddenly caught up to all the adrenaline flooding her body. She dropped her dagger as she clutched her injured hand to her chest. The blood from her cut felt like fire as it dripped down her face and pooled inside the collar of her armor.

Varric was suddenly there with arms around her but before he could say a word Anders' body lit up with another powerful burst of light. He was standing by the time Hawke blinked away the afterimage and could see again. Anders’ eyes were utterly blank, light fighting to escape through cracks in his skin, as he raised both hands toward the remaining templars closing in on them. He didn’t even need to use his staff to channel his magic as he sent blasts that slammed into two of the templars. They didn’t even have time to shout before they disintegrated into a fine red mist, leaving nothing more than a stain upon the floor where they had once stood. The rest of the templars scattered and Anders turned toward Hawke with his eyes and hands still lit with blue fire.

He lifted one hand directly at her.

Hawke flinched back, Varric's voice shouting in her ear, but was too slow to move as his spell hit her right in the chest.

\---

"--ucking nug-humping, demon-loving, dress-wearing son of a whore!"

Varric was swearing, and quite creatively, when Hawke came to.

"Enough sweet talk. You're already allowed in my pants," Hawke said. Groaned, really.

"Hawke!"

The relief in Varric's voice was so palpable that Hawke's eyes fluttered open. She hadn't even realized that she had closed them...or passed out and fallen, apparently, though she couldn’t remember exactly what had happened. She was lying on the floor with her head pillowed in Varric's lap next to Bethany, who was still unconscious and probably would be for some time. She had an amazing view of Varric’s chin from down there, she mused, still a little dazed from her fall.

"Hey. When'd you get two of these?" she wondered aloud as she reached up to poke his chins, _plural_.

Varric grabbed her hand without thinking. The same hand she had very recently broken on a templar’s face before Anders had blasted her, she now remembered. They both froze. He let go at once and started babbling out an apology as he curled over her and cradled her head between his hands. "Oh, fuck, Hawke. I'm so sorry! Shit, are you okay?"

"It's fine. It doesn't even hurt anymore."

"That's because you're in shock. I swear on Andraste's dimpled ass cheeks once I get my hands on Blondie--"

"My fingers _aren't_ broken," Hawke interrupted. “Not anymore.” She reached up and touched her cheek, confirming her suspicions when she felt her face with perfectly mobile, if not sore, fingers and found her skin bloody but unbroken. "He healed me."

Varric pawed at her face, checking for himself until she snapped at his fingers with her teeth. He let out a relieved exhale along with a few more inventive curses for good measure once he was satisfied with the inspection, taking her hand in his again and squeezing gently. Without the threat of being exploded into a million pieces, Hawke could remember seeing that last spell of his in Anders' clinic when he'd been healing the sick boy. Bethany knew a few spells to heal minor cuts or bruises, but she couldn't fix broken bones or deep cuts with just a wave of her hand. Hawke could have done without the being knocked out part but whoever - or _whatever_ \- this Anders was...he was powerful.

At least he was still on their side. Probably.

"Where is...?"

"On your left. I didn't want to interrupt the reunion."

Reunion? Hawke turned her head and saw that Anders was speaking with Karl. There were no templars left standing after Aveline ran her sword through the last one remaining as he tried to retreat. Karl had somehow managed to avoid being caught up in the middle of the fight.

"Anders, what did you do?" Karl said.

His voice and face displayed surprise and confusion - emotions that should have been impossible thanks to the brand on his forehead. Hawke had the sudden, awful suspicion that he wasn't Tranquil at all. Had he been pretending and working with the templars this entire time? Had they...had Anders been set up?

"It's like...you brought a piece of the Fade into this world. I had already forgotten what that feels like," Karl said, shaking his head in awe, or horror, as he gazed around at the carnage before him.

Varric helped Hawke to her feet when she tried to stand. His arm wrapped around her waist when she wobbled a little, but he didn't let go even after she could walk unaided. She looped her own arm around his shoulders and signaled to Snowflake to stay with Bethany as she, Varric, and Aveline cautiously gathered behind Anders to see how the scene would play out.

"I thought the Tranquil were cut off from the Fade forever," Hawke said skeptically.

"When you're Tranquil, you never think on your life 'before'. But...it's like the Fade itself is inside Anders...burning like a sun," Karl explained. He looked at Anders like he couldn't tear his eyes away just as Anders was doing the same with him. The moment didn't last very long as Karl finally seemed to realize where he was and what had transpired while his mind had been hijacked.

" _Please_. Kill me before I forget again! I don't know how you brought it back but it's fading!" he begged, face contorting in agony.

"Karl, no," Anders cried. He was apparently back to being himself - no blue lights or scary demonic voice to be seen or heard anywhere.

"Maybe we can find a cure," Hawke suggested. She didn't want to admit her heart ached a bit for the pair's plight but Varric's hand squeezed her hip knowingly.

"Can you cure a beheading?" Anders snarled at her like a wounded animal before despair gripped him and he sounded on the verge of tears. "The dreams of Tranquil mages are severed - there is nothing left of them to fix."

"I would rather die as a mage rather than die as a templar puppet," Karl said, his words and his tone absolute.

"My sister calls being Tranquil a fate worse than death," Hawke said softly. She squeezed her eyes shut as remnants of terror fluttered through her, recalling all too clearly as the templars cast Smite and Bethany falling. If Bethany were made Tranquil, Hawke would do whatever was necessary in order to keep her sister's body from falling into the hands of those seeking to control her. Even if that meant taking Bethany's life herself.

"Give him peace," Hawke urged, not entirely without compassion.

Anders looked devastated.

"I got here too late," he said, bowing his head. "I'm sorry, Karl." He looked up and met Karl's eyes, heartbroken. "I'm so sorry."

"Now! It's fading!" Karl cried. Karl flinched as if fighting something off, but as quickly as it happened he stood up again with his face entirely devoid of expression. "...Why do you look at me like that?" he said without inflection.

Anders shut his eyes before tears could fall, already accepting his loss. When he opened his eyes again pain and tension was writ though every line of his body, but he approached Karl without hesitation.

"Goodbye," he said, just as tonelessly, before plunging a blade into Karl's ribs.

Karl's death was quick, as painless as a stab wound could possibly be…and Hawke would know. Anders stepped away from his friend's body after he fell and turned to Hawke. His face was entirely blank despite the horror of what he’d just done.

"We should go before more templars come," he said.

Anders didn't even wait for her response or for the group to follow as he left. Frankly, Hawke didn't care if they saw him or his bloody maps again after tonight. This had been a shit arrangement from the beginning and Hawke really should have known better than to make that deal or let Bethany come along. The only saving grace was that there were no templars left alive to report back to Meredith that Bethany Hawke had succumbed to Smite, which only affected mages. If anyone had seen them entering the Chantry, or leaving it, however, then every last one of them was fucked.

"We need to leave, Hawke. Now," Aveline said, voice tight as she reached the same conclusion.

"I've got Sunshine," Varric said. He gave Hawke one more squeeze before letting her go in order heft Bethany up as carefully as he could and haul her over his shoulder.

Mother was going to have _fits_ when they got home. Hawke deserved the yelling she was going to get but she had some yelling to do herself for whenever Bethany woke. It had just been bad luck that the templars had caught her with that spell, but falling to a Smite was a dead giveaway for any mage and enough to keep them locked away in a Circle for life. Aveline and Snowflake went ahead to make sure the front was clear while Hawke covered Varric's rear. She couldn't even dredge up the energy or amusement to laugh at that image.

They made it back to Lowtown unseen, somehow, though the walk seemed to take hours and also like no time at all as Hawke mentally checked out. When she came to they were standing in front of Gamlen's house while Aveline helped Bethany steady herself on her feet.

"Bethy!" Hawke breathed, rushing forward to wrap her sister in her arms and nearly knocking them both over. "Fuck, I thought I'd lost you."

"I'm sorry, Marian," Bethany mumbled into her neck, clinging back as tightly as she was able. She was as weak as a newborn kitten. "I didn't mean to. I didn't use any magic this time, I swear."

"I know, sweet. I know."

Hawke didn't know how long they stood there with their arms wrapped around each other, but she felt Aveline squeeze her shoulder before she left. Varric's hand lingered comfortingly against the small of her back and Snowflake whined softly as he nosed them each in turn.

"I'd offer to let you use my bath, but I don't think either of you would make it there," Varric said.

There was a smile in his voice but when Hawke turned her head to see his face, smudged with dark smears of blood, he looked tired and sad. Hawke remembered then that she was drenched in blood herself - both her own and that of the templars she'd killed. Since she was currently pressed against Hawke, Bethany wasn't looking much better herself. Snowflake certainly wasn't. His fur used to be grey with lighter patches of white on his chest and paws, but now he was solid crimson all the way through like he'd been bathing in blood. There would be no getting out of an actual bath for him this time.

Varric helped them to get inside the house. Together, they dragged Bethany toward the bedroom but halfway there her legs gave out and they had to prop her in a chair before she toppled to the floor. Snowflake disappeared before Hawke could at least dump a bucket of water over him and went to hide under the table to lick his wounds. She hoped none of his injuries were severe enough to need stitches. The last thing she wanted to do was hold down a mabari who weighed nearly ten stone and poke at him with a needle. Hawke had been healed by Anders earlier and - aside from severely depleted mana -Bethany was otherwise unharmed. Only time would fully restore her strength, since they couldn't afford lyrium potion.

"Marian? Bethany? Is that you?" Leandra called out from the back room.

"Ah, shit," Hawke breathed, bracing for impact. "Dwarf, if you don't want get caught up in another blood bath then I suggest you run."

"Rain check?" Varric winced as a flicker from a candle approached. He was already beginning to back away toward the front door. "Promise I'll make it up to you."

"Girls?" Leandra called uncertainly.

"See you tomorrow," Hawke whispered.

He vanished without a sound the same instant Leandra walked into the living room in her dressing gown, one hand carrying a single candle holder and the other clutching the sides of a robe closed at her breast.

"Marian? Why aren’t you-- Maker preserve me, is that _blood_?"

Leandra's voice raised shrilly on the last word and Hawke heard the shout and thump of Gamlen falling out of his bed in the next room.

Fan-fucking-tastic.

"We’re fine, Mother. Go back to bed. We just need to get cleaned up and we'll be there in a bit."

"I will not go to bed! Marian, what happened? Oh, Andraste... Bethany!"

"What? What is it? Are we being robbed?" Gamlen demanded, stumbling as he came out of his room with what appeared to be a chewed up old shoe raised in one hand like a weapon. He clutched at the door frame and peered around the corner with an uncertain glare.

"Like there's anything _to_ rob..." Hawke muttered, shaking her head as crossed her arms over her chest and frowned.

"You can't have it!" he called out, just to be certain.

"It's the girls, Gamlen! They've been hurt!" Leandra fell to her knees next to the chair and clutched at Bethany's hands with one of hers while she reached up to stroke back her hair with the other. "Oh, my poor girl. What have they done to you?"

"Bethany?" Gamlen said. He crept out from around the corner, still hunched like he was braced for an attack. He cleared his throat and straightened when he saw the three of them staring back at him. He reluctantly lowered the shoe to his side but let out a scream a second later when Snowflake darted out from beneath the table, snatched the shoe out of his hand, and disappeared into Gamlen's room.

"Damn fucking dog! Get back here with that!"

"Gamlen!" Leandra snapped. "The girls!"

"Ah...right. What do you want me to do exactly?" he asked, rubbing the back of his neck as he tried to avoid looking directly at Hawke's blood-splattered face and armor.

"Get me water and towels. Hurry, Gamlen."

Gamlen looked relieved to be given an excuse to escape. He grabbed the water bucket that hung on a hook near the door and left to fill it at the pump they shared with several neighbors next to the house.

"Marian. Explain. Now."

If Hawke were a lesser person she would resent how Leandra fawned over Bethany while assuming Hawke would tough it out. She was the one covered in blood, after all, and most of it actually hers despite the lack of wounds. Bethany had scared the shit out of her earlier, though, so as far as Hawke was concerned her baby sister more than deserved to be doted upon. To be fair, Hawke was more like Snowflake in that she'd rather hide somewhere to lick her wounds in private and avoid the fuss altogether.

"Templars," Hawke said, gritting her teeth. "They Smited Bethany."

...Smote Bethany? Whatever. Either way, the spell had knocked her out and some asshole of a templar had nearly carved a hole into her chest while she unconscious. The healed cut on Hawke's cheek throbbed at the memory. She really needed to remember to give Snowflake a treat for eating that bastard, as long as he didn't get indigestion first.

"Templars!" Leandra exclaimed, rising in a panic. "Here? They're coming for Bethany? Oh Maker, please don't let them take my other baby from me! Not after I've already lost Carver!"

"No one is coming, Mother," Bethany coughed weakly, catching Leandra's hand before their mother could start throwing their belongings into a pack. "Marian took care of them."

It was a regular Hawke family tradition - running at the first sign of templars and starting their lives over again from scratch. Hawke was so tired of running, but she'd do it again to protect Bethany, even if...even if that meant leaving everyone in Kirkwall behind. Hawke tried not to be sick at the sudden realization that leaving Kirkwall would mean leaving _Varric_. But that might not even be an issue. All it took was one person claiming to have seen them at the Chantry that night and she, Bethany, Anders, Aveline, and Varric would all hang by morning. Maybe even Snowflake, too.

It was funny, thinking the Gallows might actually live up to its reputation.

"Templars won't be coming after, Bethany," Hawke confirmed just so the tension eased from the lines around Leandra's forehead and mouth. She didn't say that the Guard might come for them first - with nooses.

Gamlen returned with the bucket of water, complaining all the while of the mess, of being woken up in the middle of the night, of the rusty handle on the pump that squealed with every other push, of Snowflake stealing and eating his shoe and anything else under the sun that offended him - up to and including the actual sun itself when it started to rise.

Hawke hadn't realized it was already morning. She ignored Gamlen’s grumbling as she scrubbed the blood as best she could from her face and hair with a damp towel. She helped Leandra tuck Bethany into bed and tried everything she could think of in order to get the image of Varric's boots dangling several feet off the ground out of her mind without reaching for the nearest bottle.

She didn't succeed.


	3. Chapter 3

Between Hawke and Gamlen, there wasn't ever enough booze in the house to get good and properly drunk, which was part of the reason why they frequented the Hanged Man and the Blooming Rose – respectively – more often than not.

The other part was obviously the company.

At this particular junction, Hawke didn't feel up to being around anyone - including herself. She was anxious almost to the point of being ill and didn't even bother trying to sleep that night. Or, well, morning. An idle Hawke was a dangerous Hawke, though, so for lack of anything better to do she called for Snowflake. He trotted over happily with Gamlen's shoe in his mouth but dropped it and turned to bolt when he realized she meant to lead him outside to the water pump.

"Snowflake! Heel!" Hawke barked.

Thanks to either his training prior to becoming Hawke's or his breed renowned for their ability to obey orders, Snowflake froze in the wake of a clear order.

"Come!"

He bowed his head, ears flat and tail nub pointed directly at the ground as he slunk toward her, but Hawke didn’t spare the filthy dog any sympathy. The ground around the pump had been churned into freezing mud but there wasn't much she could do about it. Mud was far more preferable than blood, especially if guards came around asking questions. She'd have a better shot at claiming plausible deniability if her dog didn't look like he'd just eaten a templar or two.

She ordered Snowflake to hunker down beneath the pump's spout while she doused him in icy water and did her best to scrub the dried blood out of his fur until her fingers were numb. She inspected the areas that made him yelp, relieved when she found the cuts to be shallow and few. Still, once she had deemed him as clean as he was going to get, she toweled him down briskly and applied elfroot paste to his wounds. She knew the second she turned around he would just lick it off, but at least elfroot worked just as well when digested.

Once inside, she went to the cabinet that served as their larder in the small kitchen and treated Snowflake to a wedge of hard cheese and a crust of bread that would have been her breakfast had she thought she'd be able to keep anything down.

She changed into a pair of worn leather leggings with a thin, long-sleeved tunic throw over top before re-lacing the only pair of boots she owned. She didn't strap on any of her blades, save for the knife she kept tucked in her boot. With nothing left to occupy her, she picked up her armor along with a wire-bristle brush and an oil rag. Snowflake followed her back outside to sit in a warm patch of sun and finish drying while Hawke meticulously cleaned her armor and waited for the templars to come.

She worked out the story in her head while she scrubbed blood out of leather and metal, casting all blame for the templars' murders upon herself without involving any of the others. There was no getting around implicating Anders, however, because why else would Hawke be there that night attempting to free Karl, a mage who she had no connection to? Anders was an apostate, a Grey Warden, and demonically possessed so Hawke counted his chances of escaping arrest much higher than her own, especially when he now only had himself to worry about, as terrible as that thought was.

Hawke wasn't upset about killing those templars. Pissed at Anders for walking them into an obvious trap in the first place and putting Bethany at risk, yes, but she'd had blood on her hands long before that night. Most of it was from darkspawn, bandits, murderers and thieves, though some of the people she’d killed had been templars, too. Hawke would always, always put her family first. As soon as she'd been old enough to wield a knife and set traps without injuring herself, she'd helped Malcolm in keeping their family safe from predators and those who came to take him and Bethany away in chains.

If she needed to kill a hundred templars to ensure Bethany's safety then Hawke would slit every last templar's throat without hesitation.

No one had come for her by the time the sun had fully risen. Her armor was as clean as it was going to get and Hawke finally couldn't take the waiting any longer. She went inside with Snowflake trotting at her heels to put her armor away and check on Bethany, who was still asleep. Her mother wasn't speaking to her and Gamlen had locked himself in his room, which was fine with Hawke. It would only make leaving that much easier, she thought.

She patted Snowflake on the head and softly commanded him to "stay" before she went to the front door. She looked back over her shoulder only once before she left, watching as Leandra sat at Bethany's bedside with Snowflake curled up at her feet. They would take care of each other when she was gone. Hawke had to believe that.

The Gallows was a riot of noise and activity when she arrived in Hightown, as Hawke suspected it would be. The bells in the Chantry were notably silent but the clang of armor and shouts would have been more than enough to drown the chimes out. Every last man and woman in both the templars and the city guard appeared to be out in full force. She didn't see Aveline, but the crush of people as morning-goers were turned away and directed to return to their homes was so thick that Hawke had to jump up onto a low wall to avoid being trampled.

From her new vantage point, she could see the gleaming armor and curly head of hair that could only belong to Knight-Captain Cullen. He was standing in the middle of what appeared to be the designated center of command near the Chantry's steps, which had been blocked off to all civilians. He was issuing orders to grim-faced templars, some of whom marched directly into the Chantry and others who dispersed into the crowd to help the guard organize the chaos and escort people home without causing a panic.

Hawke moved closer and stood to the side as she waited to be noticed.

It took ages for the Gallows courtyard to clear out but Hawke wasn't in any particular hurry. Cullen looked solemn and angry as he gazed out over the area while his men did their best to herd early-morning shoppers and shut down the marketplace. Hawke would have believed him to be unaffected had she not been close enough to see his professional demeanor slip just enough to allow grief to bleed through. His shoulders slumped as though he carried the weight of the world upon them and he dug his thumb and middle finger so hard into his temples that the skin dimpled. Hawke winced in sympathy - with metal gauntlets on that had to hurt.

"Is there--" Hawke started to say, more out of habit than any actual desire to help.

"What?" Cullen barked, startling them both as his head snapped up with his sword already halfway drawn.

They stared at each other. Hawke’s heart pounded as she wondered who would make the first move. She kept her hands loose and empty at her sides but even now she doubted she'd be able to just hand herself over without a fight out of sheer, stubborn habit. Cullen, however, made the decision easy for her without even realizing.

"Oh. It's just you, Hawke. You startled me," Cullen sighed. His shoulders relaxed a fraction as he sheathed his sword and shook his head. "Now's not a good time."

"S...Sorry?" Hawke said, still tensed up to fight or flee. She forced her own shoulders down but shivered as she wrapped her arms around herself tight enough to make her ribs creak. She only noticed then that it was cold outside. Her breath was visible in the air and she hadn't bothered with pulling on a jacket over her nearly threadbare shirt before she'd left Gamlen's. She didn't know when she'd started shivering, or that she'd ever stopped.

"Is there something I can help you with? I'm afraid I'm rather busy at the moment." Cullen's tone was curt, but his frustration seemed directed at something that wasn't at her for once.

Hawke's mind tripped over itself when he didn't attack or call for her arrest, but she managed to ask with honest confusion, "What's going on?"

"There was an attack at the Chantry last night. Almost a dozen templars dead." Cullen's jaw was tight as he delivered this news in a clinical manner, but then his voice cracked as he quietly added, "Those were good men. _My_ men. They didn't deserve to die like that. Like…they'd been _butchered_."

"I-I'm sorry," Hawke stammered, wide-eyed and horribly guilty...even ashamed. She laid her hand on Cullen's forearm and gave him a tight squeeze through his gauntlet. "Truly."

And, because she couldn't not, she hesitantly asked, "Any idea who was involved?"

"Yes, but the bastard's already dead. Otherwise, I would have killed him myself."

Hawke's vision tunneled; a flash of boots dangling in the air cut across her mind like the vicious snap of a whip. Varric…Varric must have somehow known what Hawke had planned and turned himself in before she could take the fall for all of them. It was the sort of harebrained stunt he’d pull because Hawke was doing the exact same thing at that very moment, except he’d apparently been faster on the draw as usual. Cullen started and caught her by the shoulders when Hawke swayed and her grip on Cullen's forearm went white-knuckled.

"Hawke, are you well?" he asked, holding her up and gazing into her eyes with honest concern. For _her_ , when his men's blood drenched the floor of the Chantry, desecrating that sacred space. "You look pale all of a sudden."

"Yes...sorry..." Hawke was standing only through sheer force of will. "W-Who...?"

Cullen was looking at her strangely, but he still answered.

"His name is...was...Karl Thekla. He was a mage at the Circle here in Kirkwall. There were letters found in his room...confirming suspicions that he'd been in contact with an outside apostate and making plans to escape. Rather than submit to questioning, he apparently attacked his retainers before stabbing and killing himself. There were no survivors."

Cullen nearly had to catch her a second time as the feeling went out of Hawke's legs. The rush of relief that crashed through her nearly knocked her over, but Cullen guided her to sit down on a step leading up to the Chantry before she fell down. The stairs that she'd climbed up easily only hours before now looked as if they'd swallow her whole. She wondered if her boots had tracked bloody footprints on the way back down and vowed to throw these ones away if she somehow managed to walk back out of the Gallows not in chains.

"Maybe you should think about seeing a healer?" Cullen suggested, his hand achingly gentle on her shoulder.

Hawke couldn't stand it any longer. She buried her face in her hands and laughed because otherwise she would cry.

Fortunately for her, Cullen mistook her laughter for tears anyway, saving Hawke the trouble of offending or angering him. And like most men suddenly finding themselves with a crying woman on their hands, he patted her awkwardly on the shoulder and fled. None of the templars or guardsmen attempted to remove her, either by virtue of her reputation or her emotional state. How anyone could look at her and not assume her immediately guilty, Hawke could only wonder. After several long minutes, when she felt she had a handle on her sanity again, Hawke stood with a new resolve, determined to count her blessings and not be so stupid again.

Her new resolve was immediately tested when she came face-to-face with Knight-Commander of the Templar Order herself, Meredith Stannard, who was flanked by several templars as they marched down the Chantry's steps toward her.

"Hawke," Meredith said crisply, eyeing Hawke's bedraggled state and lack of proper attire in one quick, dismissive glance.

Meredith was, of course, immaculately outfitted in her uniform, sword, and armor. She stood tall and imposing, entirely certain of her place within Kirkwall's hierarchy. She was ensconced near the top, surpassed only by Viscount Dumar and Grand Cleric Elthina, but everyone knew she was the true power in Kirkwall. Not even Dumar or Elthina dared go against her.

"Meredith. Fancy meeting you here," Hawke said, willing herself to remain calm. Andraste’s flaming ass, she should have ran for it while she still had the chance. "Cullen told me what happened. I'm sorry for your loss."

"Indeed. It's an unfortunate situation, but not surprising considering the threat we were dealing with."

Meredith considered one Tranquil mage to be a threat? She must really be insecure about her hold on the power she wielded, however, Hawke didn't believe that to be the case one bit.

"He said the man responsible killed himself? You must be relieved," Hawke said diplomatically.

"Death is never a preferable outcome, even when blood mages are involved, though this man did at least spare us the necessity of a long and arduous trial. It is a curious thing, however."

Meredith turned away from Hawke and gazed up at the Chantry with those frosty blue eyes of hers, face as smooth and impassive as the enormous statue of Andraste that stood behind the Chantry's main altar inside. Hawke recalled that the statue was even adorned with a sword and armor very similar to Meredith's. If either the Maker or Andraste had been present last night, then they had silently stood aside while an innocent mage was made Tranquil and used as bait to lure in his own friend for capture.

"What's curious?" Hawke asked and immediately wished she hadn't when Meredith's cold eyes snapped back to hers.

"We have reason to believe the mage was not working alone. Marks were discovered on the bodies of several templars that no mage could have made. Bolts from a crossbow. Stab wounds from a sword and daggers," Meredith paused, obviously provoking Hawke for a reaction, which she was proud to say she didn't give her even when she added, "...claw marks, as though attacked by a wild animal."

Hawke and Meredith were both aware Karl was a scapegoat, covering for the ones actually responsible for the deaths last night. Meredith had to know Karl had been made Tranquil prior to the fight, perhaps even ordered the Rite herself, thereby making Karl unable to have attacked, must less killed, anyone - himself included. Even worse was that Hawke could recall having left several identifying items behind once she had replayed the events of last night while waiting to be arrested. There was the dagger that she'd thrown into the back of a templar's head as well as her gauntlet and Bethany's neckerchief that she had tossed aside in her haste to check for her sister's pulse.

An assassin Hawke was not. The only two people in Hawke's group skilled enough to evade detection - Fenris and Isabela - had not been there last night. Hawke thanked the Maker for small favors because as things stood the rest of them were seriously, seriously fucked.

The worst part was that the templars had the law on their side. Ordering a mage be made Tranquil was immoral, not illegal, and the templars last night had every right to attack those attempting to free a Circle mage from their custody. Any way Hawke cut it, she had knowingly aided an apostate, trespassed on Chantry grounds, and - when discovered - killed the templars whose only job had likely been to capture and detain. Hawke's side had started killing first, instigated by Hawke herself. Meredith had every right to demand that Hawke and her companions answer for their crimes.

"That is...curious," Hawke choked out, forcing herself not to be the one who looked away first.

"The only thing I can say for these victims is that they died quickly. It's a hollow consolation for the husbands, wives, and children left behind but at least I can give their families closure in knowing that the man responsible is dead. As for his accomplices, I intend to find every last one of them and return the favor." Meredith's eyes locked onto Hawke's and bored into her.

"And when I do, they will pray to be allowed such merciful deaths."

White noise filled Hawke's head in place of the endless loop of self-recrimination that had driven her to the Gallows in the first place. She watched numbly as Meredith and the templars returned to the hall in which they were stationed. Cullen might have been blind to the guilt that wafted off Hawke but Meredith had definitely scented blood in the water and would not be so easily deterred. Hawke had so far managed to avoid direct involvement with the Templar Order; she was little more than an annoyance or occasional ally if the coin being offered was good enough to loosen her already slack morals. Hawke was very aware that the lines in the sand had been drawn and she had trampled all over them, whether Meredith had enough proof to convict her or not. It would only be a matter of time before they were caught.

Hawke's legs were too leaden to run but urgency pushed her into action. She was torn as where to go first when she needed to warn everyone. Ultimately, her mother and Bethany were the most vulnerable and the easiest to find, so Hawke headed back toward Gamlen's first. She needed to get her family out of Kirkwall because Meredith on the hunt never ended well for anyone involved. She would not hesitate to call an army down upon Hawke and everyone she associated with until none were left standing.

Hawke needed a plan, a level head, but all of her planning got shot to shit when she walked into the house and Leandra was there obviously waiting for her to return. Leandra had been sitting at the table, hands folded together in front of her, but stood like a noblewoman receiving an audience when Hawke entered and cautiously closed the door behind her.

"There's been talk around town today," Leandra began, wringing her hands and looking over Hawke's shoulder rather than her face. "They closed the markets in Hightown and aren't permitting anyone to enter the Chantry. They're saying...they're saying a mage murdered a dozen templars."

Hawke didn't move or even blink as Leandra’s eyes slowly rose to meet Hawke's, fear darkening their wet sheen. "They say...he had accomplices."

Meredith must have put word out before confiding her suspicions with Hawke if rumor had already reached the far west side of Lowtown. Hawke was no one special - certainly not someone who had earned the Knight-Commander's confidence - even if their conversation had been a poorly disguised threat.

"What are you trying to say, Mother?" Hawke said.

"You and your sister were gone so late last night. And then...and then you come home covered in blood and say Bethany was attacked by a templar! What am I supposed to think?"

Hawke didn't say anything. There wasn't anything left to say when Meredith and now her own mother were more than willing to believe Hawke's guilt, whether it was true or not. Hawke gazed at her stonily until Leandra's mask of tenuous calm fractured and she raised a shaking hand to her mouth to muffle a sob. Hawke had already damned herself with her silence.

"Oh, Marian," Leandra broke, falling upon Hawke and grabbing her hand in both of hers. " _What did you do_?"

"I did what had to be done, Mother," Hawke said harshly, unyielding beneath the onslaught of her mother's tears and accusations. "What Father or Carver would have done if they'd been here. Would you have rather I let her die?"

Leandra flinched. She stared at Hawke like she didn't recognize her, face pale and lips blanched.

"What were you even doing at the Chantry in the first place, Marian? And why...oh, Maker... _why_ did you have to drag your sister along? It's bad enough you let Carver get killed, now you're putting Bethany in danger too?"

Hawke reared back as if she'd been slapped, dropping Leandra's hand at once.

"I let Carver get killed? _I_ did? If not for that dragon the darkspawn would have killed us all that day. Say what you really mean, Mother," Hawke hissed, her words practically dripping venom. "You wish I had been the one to die, not Carver. I was the rebellious one, the one you couldn't control. Always getting into trouble and causing fights between you and Father."

Leandra brought her hands up to cover her ears as if she could block Hawke's words out, shaking her head and moaning.

"Oh, if only I could have died with Carver! You break my heart every day, Marian, and you don't even care!" Leandra cried. "I keep thinking there's something we could have done. It's killing me."

Everything Hawke had done since they escaped Lothering, everything she’d sacrificed had been so her family could survive. Bartering with a witch for her family's safe passage across the Waking Sea, essentially selling herself into slavery to work for a mercenary company for a year, taking menial and dangerous jobs that could get her arrested or killed, and Leandra thought she didn't _care_? How her mother could wish herself dead when she still had two children who loved and needed her Hawke couldn't even begin to fathom, or forgive. She might not need Leandra the same way she had when she was nine and dealing with skinned knees and her first crush, but after losing Carver and their father Hawke was determined to hold on tight to the family she had left.

If only she wasn't so fucking good at pushing them away.

"Then maybe you should have died if being stuck with me is so terrible for you!" Hawke snarled, lashing out with her words before she could contain them.

She could tell immediately that the blow had hit its intended mark but couldn't make herself take any of it back even when Leandra sobbed, backing away from Hawke like she was some feral animal about to attack. Hawke didn't ask for this life like Leandra had when she'd chosen to run away with Hawke's apostate father. At least Hawke was doing the best she could without blaming anyone else, which was more than Leandra could claim. Maker forbid her mother demean herself with common labor and find a fucking job instead of choosing to mope all day at Gamlen's while her daughters broke their backs for a paltry amount of coin to bring home.

Hawke didn't bother sticking around for the fallout. She knocked over a side table and sent a clay vase crashing to the floor in her haste to leave, unable to see through the tears she refused to let fall from her eyes. She didn't stop running until she saw the outline of a man swinging by his foot from a chain and pushed open the front door to the Hanged Man. It was an odd hour with no one but the regulars scattered around the tavern nursing tankards of terrible ale, but Hawke didn't spare them a second glance. She took the stairs two and three at a time before she stormed into Varric's room without even bothering to knock.

Varric was sitting at his desk with his head in his hands but he jumped up, half coming out of his seat as she charged in looking windblown and half-mad.

"Hawke, what--?"

"Shut up," Hawke said, striding over to the desk and dragging him up by the collar for a hard, harsh kiss that tasted like salt and copper and whiskey. "I don't want to talk."

"Okay," Varric said, still talking.

So Hawke kissed him again until a cut she hadn't noticed opened on his bottom lip. She made a distressed noise and pulled back to look at him, finally noticing all the scrapes and bruises she had overlooked last night. She hadn't even considered that he might have gotten seriously hurt in the fight, so concerned with keeping him from the hangman's noose that she’d overlooked the possibility that he might have been bleeding out in the Hanged Man.

Varric was half standing, half kneeling on his chair and he reached out to cup her cheek in his hand before Hawke's mind got too carried away with the what-ifs. He drew her back into a much gentler kiss as his thumb stroked back and forth over the smooth skin where a sword had nicked her cheek. Where Anders had healed her.

"I don't want to think," she begged, voice nearly a sob against his lips. "Help me to not think, Varric."

"I've got you, darlin’," Varric promised, kissing her mouth, her jaw, the still-icy skin over her clavicle. "Come to bed."

Hawke hadn't gotten the chance to change into anything warmer before being cornered by Leandra, but just being in the same room as Varric was already leeching the chill from her bones bit by bit. He took her hand and laid her out over the bed like she was the one still wincing from the pull of skin over fresh bruises, infinitely gentle in the deliberate way he handled her.

Varric peeled her and then himself out of their clothing when her frozen fingers couldn't manage anything more than clumsy fumbling. When the only article of clothing left between the two of them was Varric's shirt that fell loose around his bare thighs, Varric took her hand and sucked her fingers, one by one, into his mouth. He laved the skin warm again with swirls of his tongue as he inspected the newly knitted bones in each slender, calloused digit. He nipped softly at the meat of her palm and soothed the tiny hurt with his lips. He left a trail of these biting kisses along the translucent skin of her wrist, the inside of her elbow, and the ball of her shoulder. He mouthed across her chest and down her other arm until he ended his journey by drawing her smallest finger into his mouth. He tongued at the split in her nail and didn't seem to mind the dried blood crusted beneath despite how many times she'd washed her hands at the freezing water pump - until the skin had cracked, at least.

Varric blazed a map of kisses all over her body in the places where Hawke had taken injury previous to having been healed by Anders; a nick from a passing arrow on her left shoulder in addition to the one Varric had given her, also healed; a bruise on her lower ribcage from a templar's closed fist, the cut on her cheek now a pale, silvery line, and a multitude of minor scrapes and scratches also healed.

Hawke hadn't realized Varric had been paying so close attention last night to notice, much less memorize, every time an opponent had managed to land a strike on her. Some of those hits Hawke didn't even remember taking. She'd been so wound up in her fear for Bethany, fear in whatever that thing was Anders had become, and overcome with the rush of bloodlust that was more addictive than any drug. The high of adrenaline and victory was probably the real reason why she kept fighting these impossible battles - and more often than not winning them. There was a price to winning, however; a fact Hawke had been made starkly, painfully aware of when she walked into the Gallows fully expecting not to walk back out again.

The sudden reminder of why Hawke had run to Varric in the first place was like a bucket of cold water over her face. Cullen's despair, Meredith's threat, her mother's words...they all came rushing back the same moment Varric nudged himself between her legs and slid into her. Hawke was too tense, too anxious to allow her body to relax and both of them winced at the tight fit.

Hawke wanted to _forget_. She wanted the punishment she more than deserved but somehow evaded twice in the Gallows. She wanted him to slam into her, scour all of these awful thoughts away through pain and exertion, but Varric was doing a piss-poor job of indulging her unspoken demands. He waited until Hawke adjusted around him before rocking into her with slow, shallow motions that were an irritant when Hawke felt this agitated. She clutched at him, digging her nails into his bruises when he refused to take her any harder, any faster than this bloody snails' pace.

He hissed but still wouldn’t hurry the fuck up. Nor did he rebuke her, fixing his eyes on hers in a silent contest of wills. He stroked her breasts and her hips and her belly like calming a wild beast, but Hawke only felt fury rising in place of calm. She could lose this, lose _him_ , and yet he persisted in taking his time despite the urgency Hawke felt battering at her ribcage like a bird fighting to escape.

Finally, Hawke could stand it no longer. She growled as she shoved him off and climbed over him before he could even get a word out. She reached behind her to position him and sank down to the hilt in one sharp drop that made them both hiss.

"Hawke--"

"Shut up," she snarled.

She grabbed the front of his tunic and ripped it right down the center seam. She wound the fabric in each fist so she'd have something to hold on to when she started fucking him like she had a personal vendetta against his cock. She wasn't actually aroused despite Varric's best attempts at foreplay when she’d been distracted, so her body wasn't producing much lubricant. She was so tense that each thrust burned, scraping both of them raw even when he reached out to grasp her hips in an attempt to slow her down.

Hawke slapped his hands away and then, without really meaning to, slapped him across the face. It wasn't a very hard slap by any means, barely a sting of stubble against her palm, but it was loud and unexpected enough to startle them both. They froze, locked in a breathless stalemate. Varric slowly turned his head back from where it'd been knocked to the side and looked at her without saying a word, stunned. Hawke had been halfway off his cock when she'd hit him but sank back down slowly, uncertainly, as she stared at the faint mark reddening on his cheek. Hawke may as well have punched him with all of her strength while wearing metal gauntlets as far as she was concerned.

Varric brought his hand up to his cheek, tonguing the split on his bottom lip that had thankfully not reopened.

"Varric, I..."

Hawke reached for his face. He didn't flinch away but she caught herself and dropped her hands to his chest as if he had anyway, squeezing the tattered remains of his shirt. Maker, she was so _violent_ without even meaning to be. Meredith had every right to suspect Hawke of being involved in the murder of her templars, especially when she'd just hit a person she cared for without any provocation whatsoever… Someone’s whose only crime was loving someone like _her_.

"I'm so sorry," she whispered, lowering her eyes to her hands which had curled into tight fists like they just couldn't help themselves.

"Hey, don't even worry about it. I'm sure I had it coming." Varric's initial shock melted away and he actually managed a rueful smile with the uninjured side of his mouth. "In fact, I _know_ I did."

"I still shouldn't have hit you."

"Don't beat yourself up about it – that face of yours is too pretty to mark up." Varric's smile softened as he reached toward her. Hawke forced herself not to flinch, but he only rested a gentle hand against her cheek.

"Blondie's little healing trick is the only thing that’s stopping me from cashing in on all my favors and hunting him down after you and Sunshine got hurt. Grey Warden or not, I would have made him wish he'd never left the Deep Roads," Varric said. He didn't need to exaggerate or make empty threats; Hawke knew he was fully capable of following through.

"My hero," Hawke said with a fluttering sigh that made Varric grin wide enough to hurt.

"Ouch," he said. His hand dropped away from Hawke's face to prod at his lower lip, which had started bleeding again. "I keep forgetting about that."

"Maybe if you didn't talk so much it would actually heal," Hawke said.

"Oh, is that the reason?" Varric said dryly. They both already knew that would be a losing battle.

Varric’s erection had only wilted somewhat when Hawke slid off of him but she wasn't going to be able to come anytime soon. The slap seemed to have knocked Hawke straight, oddly enough, even though she hadn't been on the receiving end. Considering Varric had actually shot her before and wasn't at all shy about spanking her during sex, perhaps he _was_ overdue for a smack or two. She didn't know what had come over her and didn't plan on making physical violence a habit between them, but she'd at least startled herself out of the frantic, angry mood that had taken her over.

"Here," she murmured as she wriggled down so they were eye to eye. "Let me kiss it better."

Hawke kissed him gently, first the top lip and then the bottom while she smoothed her thumbs over the permanent smile lines at the corners of his mouth that proved what a great - and terrible - sense of humor he had. She took her time, brushing her mouth over his again and again until his lips parted with a sigh. She slipped her tongue inside as effortlessly as an assassin's blade sinking into the space between ribs, stroking his gilded tongue with her own until he groaned and thrust his hips in tiny motions against her belly.

She broke the kiss just long enough to swipe her tongue over her palm a few times, soaking the skin so that when she wrapped her fist around Varric he had something warm and wet to sink into this time. She caught his groan with another kiss, muffling all the sounds he made and keeping them all for herself. He wrapped one arm around her shoulders and buried his other hand in her hair, kissing her hungrily with complete disregard for his injured lip as her hand became slick with his precome. She gripped him tighter as a result and Varric groaned a deep, primal vibration that rumbled up through his chest and into her own.

Hawke caught his lower lip between her teeth and sucked hard enough for the blood to well up and burst across her tongue. There was something about being with Varric that made her want to do weird shit and apparently a foray into vampirism was next on the list. If Hawke had been any more like her dog then she might have tried to take a chunk out of him as well, but she settled for a light nibble instead before flicking her tongue again and again over the cut in his lip until he groaned and shuddered in her hand, spilling between their bellies.

"Damn, Hawke," he sighed. His tone was accusatory, though Hawke chose to interpret it as sufficiently awed instead. "I bet you were one of those kids obsessed with picking at scabs, weren't you?"

"I never did learn how to leave well enough alone," Hawke agreed, wiping her hand off on the bedding before pecking a much gentler kiss to Varric's abused lips.

"Can I at least return the favor?" he said with a vague gesture toward her lower half.

Hawke muffled a snort. "No thanks. I'm good."

This was how one made love to a dwarf, Hawke thought as she nuzzled her face against his neck and wrapped her arms around his torso, glad to be face-to-face for once. She almost felt as if she'd been the one to come, tension slowly melting out of her body with the return of warmth as Varric tugged the blankets over them. Their chests pressed together, Hawke could feel their hearts beating in counter rhythm to each other. She rested her lips against his throat just to verify which rhythm was his and tried to will her own to match.

"Feel up to telling me what had you so worked up earlier?" Varric said, his voice a soft rumble that soothed Hawke before she could even tense up again. His lips brushed against her temple and he stroked her hair softly as he waited.

"Shit, Varric. Where do I even start?" she groaned.

"The beginning's usually a safe bet for any story, Hawke."

Hawke was incapable of keeping anything a secret from Varric, so she told him. In a hesitant, heavily edited deluge of word vomit, but Varric still managed to follow her thought processes down to the exact moment he realized she'd meant to turn herself in. Hawke, of course, didn't frame her decision to hand herself over to the templars as such, but they both knew approaching Cullen and subsequently getting caught by Meredith could have ended very badly. She was too fatigued to try and put a filter on her words and even winced through a retelling of her and Leandra's fight. She tried to remain neutral but she could hear the cracks in her voice that were threatening to splinter into fresh grief.

Varric listened and didn't speak. He was hardly even breathing, for that matter, though his tight hold on her prevented Hawke from pulling away. She hadn't been able to meet his eyes, unable to take him looking at her like she'd ripped his heart out with her bare hands and stomped all over it. Finally, when she had nothing left to say, Varric took a shaky breath. Hawke half-expected him to start yelling, but he maintained his composure when he spoke.

"You don't need to martyr yourself out of some misplaced sense of guilt, Hawke," he said as he dragged a hand up and down the length of her spine. "If anything, that should be Blondie's job for dragging us into that shitstorm waiting to happen."

"We had to get those maps, Varric."

"Fuck the maps, Hawke! And the entire damned expedition if this is the cost." Varric sat up, now angry despite his earlier calm. "They aren't worth your life! You shouldn't have to take the fall for some demon-possessed ex-Warden because you can't say no to anyone with a pretty face and a sob story. Or even just a sob story."

"You think I meant for any of that to happen, or that I give a shit about Anders or his friend?" Hawke demanded as she sat up to face him. "I wasn't about to let templars get their hands on Bethany."

"Sunshine is old enough to take responsibility for her own actions," Varric said, voice low and tight, but surprisingly gentle. "I am really fucking sorry for what happened to Carver, but that wasn't your fault either. Your mother was way out of line for making you think it was."

"She isn't wrong, though. I've only I'd been faster...stronger...I could have saved him."

"And gotten yourself killed in the process?"

"Maybe that would have been better!" Hawke snapped, cutting her hand through the air. "Mother wouldn't have lost Carver or have to watch her daughter turn into some cold-blooded killer."

"I don't know, Hawke," Varric said blandly. "I never got the chance to meet Carver but I have to say I'd much prefer kissing you. No offense. I'm sure he was perfectly charming, if you and Sunshine are any indication."

"He was a perfect pain in my ass, you mean," Hawke said with a choked laugh, throat thick with tears. "Annoying younger brothers often are."

"And I would know, seeing as how I am one."

"You would have liked him, I think. He was always giving me shit... Never let me take myself too seriously."

"Sounds like my kind of guy after all," Varric said softly, taking Hawke's hand in his own and resting them on his knee.

Hawke felt all of the fight go out of her and she slumped, too drained to even lift her head. She was so _tired_ of fighting, of running scared and pretending she wasn't, of being so fucking broke all the time that she'd sell her skills not even to the highest bidder, but to _any_ bidder. She'd even considered working the occasional nights at the Blooming Rose because what was a little depravity and prostitution on top of everything else she'd done? It wasn't as if she'd been getting laid much anyway but that had been before she and Varric had gotten together. She'd yet to be _that_ desperate for coin, thank the Maker.

And because there wasn't any kind of life-or-death situation Varric couldn't turn into a joke, he added, "Anyway, if you're that desperate to wear a necklace, Hawke, let's find you something a little less deadly."

His tone was effortlessly jovial but she could feel the faint tremors of his hand as it tightened around hers.

"I expect something atrociously expensive, Varric," Hawke said primly, squeezing back. "I want people to think I vomit diamonds."

"Anything you want, sweetheart. Maybe even something to match those stunning eyes of yours."

“I—“ Hawke didn't notice how long she'd been running off pure adrenaline until her usual smartass response was interrupted by a yawn big enough to crack her jaw and pop her ears. “ _Damn_. I’m exhausted…”

"How much you wanna bet you didn't get any sleep last night?" Varric chuckled as he scooted aside and coaxed Hawke into lying down despite half-hearted protests.

"Even I wouldn't take that bet," Hawke muttered.

Varric’s bed was incredibly luxurious compared to her shared bunk with Bethany. It was plenty big enough for the both of them even when Hawke sprawled out. The sheets didn't scratch her skin and the pillows were soft and downy and smelled like Varric. Her eyelids drooped when he smoothed back her hair and rested his lips against her forehead. When he pulled back they refused to open back up. She frowned when she felt the covers being drawn over her and still dredged up the stubbornness to argue.

"M'not tired," she protested through another yawn. Maker, she had so much to do. She didn't have time to sleep. She had to... She had to...

"Sleep," Varric murmured, more compelling than any sloth demon.

Hawke slept.

\---

Hawke didn't know it was tomorrow until Varric told her so.

"You slept an entire day," Varric informed her without even looking up from his writing desk when he heard her shifting. "I didn't know if you'd even wake up in time for dinner. You must be hungry."

Ravenous, actually, but Hawke threw off the covers in a panic and didn't spare a thought for food. "How could you let me sleep that long?"

Meredith must have collected enough evidence for a conviction by now and was probably on her way to Gamlen's house at that very moment. Gamlen was next to useless in a fight and Bethany wouldn't be able to cast anything more than a faint wisp for at least a few more days. Snowflake couldn't hold off a platoon of armed soldiers on his own, though he'd very likely get himself killed attempting to anyway. Hawke had left her family completely vulnerable while she'd slept.

"You needed the rest," Varric said as he scrawled his signature off on a piece of parchment and finally turned toward her. He was severely lacking the sense of urgency the situation called for and Hawke reconsidered slapping him again.

"I have to go."

Hawke swung her legs over the side of the bed and stood up quickly but had to pause when her vision went blurry and she swayed.

"Easy," Varric said. He was suddenly at her side and keeping her upright by her shoulder. "The world won't end if you take a few minutes to eat something before you pass out."

"And what if something's already happened to my sister because I was sleeping instead of protecting her? Dammit, Varric, you _knew_ what was at stake!"

"Sunshine's fine, Hawke." Varric grasped her shoulders, forcing Hawke to stop fighting him and actually meet his eyes. “I went to check on her while you were asleep, but she was too tired to chat for long."

"She's okay?" Hawke said shakily, clamping down on Varric's wrists with a vice-like grip as she slowly sat back down on the bed.

"No sign of templars anywhere, I promise." Varric sat on the bed next to Hawke without breaking her hold on him and leaned their shoulders together in wordless support. "I’m glad you actually managed to get Snowflake to take a bath, by the way. He almost knocked me over as soon as I came inside. Leandra seems to think I'm equally responsible for the state you two were in last night and didn't make any secret about her displeasure. I can kinda see why you were so quick to get out of there." He shuddered. "Oh…she also told me to tell you to pick up flour and eggs on your way back home."

"Eggs and flour? For what? Mother doesn't bake," Hawke said, confused.

"I think she mentioned something about a cake? Is it your birthday and you didn't tell me, Hawke? It’s a good thing I was already planning on getting you a present or else I’d feel like a heel for not knowing my own girlfriend’s birthday. Speaking of which, when is--?"

Hawke paled, staring at Varric in dismay before she dropped her face into her hands and groaned. “Oh _no_ …”

"What?" Varric asked. "You can't be worried about applying for the senior discount yet."

"It's _Bethany's_ birthday tomorrow," Hawke moaned. "Which means it also would have been Carver's. Maker, I am such an asshole. No wonder Mother said what she did."

"So things got a little heated between you two, but that’s still no excuse to blame you for Carver's death. You are more than welcome to stay here tonight, or for however long you want. We can get your sister a present from the both of us tomorrow and hire a damn baker to make a cake."

"I'd like to know how you have so much money to throw around, Master Tethras. You don't even _do_ anything," Hawke said through her fingers.

"I do plenty!" Varric protested. "Don't forget I had a life before meeting you, Marian Hawke."

"Oh yes, writing your smut novels. Now I remember."

" _Adult erotica._ I swear, some people have no appreciation for art."

"If that's what you want to call it," Hawke said with a small laugh as she pulled her hands away from her face and flattened them against her stomach when it rumbled angrily. "I think you mentioned something about dinner?"

"Yep. I even heard Corff's finally retiring his Friday special after the third outbreak of botulism linked back to the fish stew."

"Nothing builds up a good appetite like an epidemic," Hawke joked.

It was simple enough to fall back into old habits, though Varric caught her more than once staring anxiously toward the front door after they'd gotten dressed and settled in at their usual table downstairs. Isabela was already schmoozing at the bar amongst the regular dinner crowd, who seemed to have expanded a bit in celebration of a new Friday special, which ended up being an equally suspicious-looking "beef" stew. Beggars really couldn't be choosers, but Hawke was certain to fish out the more questionable chunks before digging in.

"I heard someone had fun without me the other night," Isabela purred when she slipped into the chair across from Hawke's and kicked her boots up on the table, crossing her legs at the ankles.

"I don't know what you’re talking about," Hawke coughed, nearly choking on a tough piece of meat as she glared at Isabela in warning.

"Oh, come off it, sweet thing. The rumors are all over town. Even I can put two and two together and come up with 'Hawke got herself into trouble again'. I'm hurt that you didn't even invite me to come out with you."

"Seriously, Isabela. I don't--"

"Hawke!"

Hawke jumped to her feet, dinner forgotten as Aveline rushed through the front door looking as if she'd sprinted the entire way there.

"What's wrong?" Hawke demanded, only managing to refrain from grabbing Aveline and shaking her because of the table in the way. "Did something happen to Bethany?"

She _knew_ she should have left right away! Damn Varric for keeping her there.

"No, no," Aveline said, waving her off as she tried to catch her breath. "Everyone's fine as far as I know. Sorry, Hawke, I didn't mean to startle you. I came as soon as I could get away when I heard."

"Heard **what** , Aveline?" Hawke demanded.

"It's the strangest thing--"

"What is, big girl? You finally find the g-spot?" Isabela cut in with a smirk. "Good on you. It's about time."

"Shut up, whore. No one was speaking to you," Aveline said as an angry flush spread across her freckled cheeks.

"You were saying something strange happened?" Varric prompted and Aveline's attention jumped back to the point.

"As I was saying, a few hours ago a trio of men turned themselves over to the guard claiming to have been involved in the mess at the Chantry last night. They even had details that no one could have known unless they'd been there." Aveline braced her hands on the table and leaned forward, lowering her voice. "Like the fact the mage, Karl Thekla, had been made Tranquil prior to the murders."

"What?" Hawke exclaimed. "Who are they?"

"No one knows, is the thing. They just showed up out of nowhere and turned themselves in with identical stories. We think they're from one of the gangs that have been causing trouble for our night watch in Hightown. One of them was a former Antivan assassin known for his blade work. Another had a modified crossbow and gloves that had metal spikes fused to them like claws in his possession. The third was an apostate that Meredith’s been trying to track down by the name of Decimus who escaped Starkhaven’s Circle a few months ago."

"How is that possible?" Hawke said almost too afraid to hope but she sank back into her chair, weak with relief.

"I don't know how and frankly I don't care." Aveline shook her head. "None of these men were without bloody pasts and would have met the Gallows sooner or later."

"Wait," Isabela said as her boots hit the floor and she sat up. "You said one of them had a modified crossbow?"

"Yes. After searching his home, one of my guardsmen found bolts for the crossbow that matched the ones found at the scene."

"Varric!" Isabela slapped the back of her hand against his chest but ignored his grunt of pain and resulting glower as she said with feverish intensity, "Do you know what that means?"

Hawke tensed. She tried not to be so obvious as to hold her breath but realized she'd failed when Varric knocked his knee into hers beneath the table and a whoosh of air escaped her. If Isabela was onto them then it would only be a matter of time before other, more dangerous individuals discovered the truth of last night as well.

"You got me, Rivaini," Varric shrugged, unwilling to show his hand even when caught.

"It means _someone_ …" Isabela stressed, leaning toward him with her eyes narrowed, "...tried to copy our shtick!" She jammed her finger into the table with an air of triumph. "Can you believe their nerve? I've been _itching_ for a fight for weeks and they snag the first one that comes along right from under our noses!"

The way she folded her arms beneath her breasts and all but pouted would have been hilarious if Hawke's heart wasn't beating fast enough to be alarming. She and Aveline exchanged quick glances but Aveline was an even better actor than her Wicked Grace skills – or lack thereof – would imply. Her expression didn’t give them away either despite her own involvement in the templars’ murders. Hawke almost wondered if Aveline had planted the evidence but there was no way she’d have managed to convince three wanted criminals in less than a day’s time to turn themselves in for someone else’s crime. And one punishable by death at that.

"I thought I told you to see a healer about the itching," Varric joked. "Sorry, Rivaini. You'll just have to find your fight elsewhere."

"But it's weird, right? It's almost like someone was trying to frame us," Isabela said, chewing on her bottom lip.

"They do say imitation is the highest form of flattery," Varric offered.

Aveline finally pulled out a chair and dropped into it with a sigh. "Regardless of the men’s reason for confessing, I'm going to be up to my ears in paperwork for the next few weeks getting this mess sorted. It'll probably be a while before I get a night off again." She pulled a pitcher of ale toward her along with an empty mug that had been brought to them along with their now-cold dinner.

The stew churned queasily in Hawke’s stomach and she had to hope it was only from her rattled nerves and not the onset of food poisoning. There weren’t many people who could pull off such a stealthy cover-up but it seemed strange to her that Varric hadn’t seemed the slightest bit surprised by Aveline’s announcement. She envied his ability to remain unruffled even in the tensest situations. Maker knew she was a wreck on days she couldn’t find a matching pair of socks, but she certainly wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. She was grateful to not have to run or look over her shoulder for the rest of her life, but still… _No one’s_ luck was that good.

"In that case," Varric said as he pulled out a deck of cards from one of his coat pockets and started to shuffle. "Anyone up for a round of Wicked Grace?"

"I suppose one round couldn’t hurt…" Aveline said reluctantly.

"You know I'm always game," Isabela winked.

"Hawke?" Varric asked, starting to deal them in.

Hawke had been staring at him, trying to find answers in his perfectly serene face, but glanced away when he raised his eyebrows and quirked his bruised lips at her in a silent question.

"…Yeah," Hawke finally said. "Hit me."


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the gratuitous mentions of vomiting, which thankfully don’t go into graphic detail. This series is titled Hangover for a reason. XD;;; There is also a brief mention of rape.

Hawke was getting wasted tonight and nothing short of the reappearance of an Archdemon was going to stop her.

"Maybe you should slow down a bit on those, Hawke," Varric said when she called out to Norah to bring them a third round of shots after she’d nearly demolished the first two single-handedly.

Hawke blew him a raspberry in response, refusing to be swayed from her goal to drink as much as possible as _quickly_ as possible. She had not only finished off the remaining pitcher of ale by herself, but also Varric's drink, half a bottle of port that Isabela had smuggled from only the Maker knew where in that indecent dress of hers, and four shots of the hard stuff Norah had been serving. Aveline wasn’t drinking more than her single cup of ale that night so Hawke had immediately claimed dibs on her other shots. Hawke wasn’t even pretending to play cards after she lost track of her coin purse somewhere around the fourth or fifth hand of Wicked Grace. Probably Varric's doing. He was always doing sneaky shit behind her back and claiming it was for Hawke's own good. Her liver would give out long before Hawke did, so Varric could just mind his own damn business.

Corff's ale was more or less piss water but the shots themselves must have been distilled dragon urine because they burned on the way down and actually set her back on her ass, which was exactly what she’d been craving. Fucking Varric, or at least attempting to, hadn't silenced the unceasing chatter in her mind, but those shots were well on their way to doing it for her.

"You promised me free drinks for a year after you shot me, dwarf. You didn't stipulate a one per day rule," Hawke said, or at least tried to. What actually came out was, "Yewww promished..." before she gave up on speech and jabbed a finger into his chest with a slightly wobbly glower.

Varric caught her finger and refused to give it back, gazing at Hawke with these...these _soulful_ eyes or whatever but she was done with feeling guilty. She didn't want to feel anything but completely blitzed out of her mind and if he wouldn't let her then Hawke would just find somewhere else to drink.

…As soon as she could feel her legs again.

"You really want to be hungover at Sunshine's party tomorrow?" Varric said quietly, changing his grip so he was holding her hand instead.

Using Bethany was a low blow and usually a surefire way to make Hawke reconsider her more questionable decisions, but she'd already decided she was beyond such an obvious play on her conscience. She stared Varric down as she reached out and snagged his shot glass with her free hand and downed the clear contents in one swallow without coughing or breaking eye contact once.

”Aw, leave Hawke alone, Varric,” Isabela chided as she slid Hawke her own shot, grinning when Hawke tossed that one back as well without hesitation. “Don’t be a buzzkill.”

“You’re not the one who has to clean up the mess later when Hawke tries to drown herself in her own vomit, Rivaini.”

“Sorry, sweet thing. You knew what you were signing up for when you decided to finally tap Hawke’s fine ass.”

“If I tapped anything on Hawke right now she’d burst like a keg.”

“M’fiiiiine,” Hawke slurred. She frowned at Varric…or at least in his general direction since there seemed to be three of him staring disapprovingly at her, which was interesting. She had just enough orifices that they could probably make it work. “Yew worry too mush…”

If Fenris had been there then he would have supported her decision to drink, if not matched her shot for shot. They were notably lacking in elves, but as it wasn’t their usual get together night Hawke supposed that oversight could be forgiven.

”It’s getting late,” Aveline said in a common prelude to her eminent departure. “I have—“

“Work. Blah, blah, blah,” Hawke interrupted. “Patrol. Paperwork. Sush-pi-shus cover-ups, yadda yadda.”

“Hawke,” Varric said sharply. More sharply than he usually spoke to her even when she was going out of her way to be a bigger pain in the ass than usual. “All right, you’re cut off. Say goodnight to Aveline. You’re going back to bed.”

“Nooo,” Hawke protested, clinging to the table when it swayed. “M’not done.”

She reached out to grasp for the nearest tankard or bottle, but everything kept moving and sliding around on the suddenly unstable surface. Who the fuck had the brilliant idea to move the Hanged Man onto a boat? Probably Isabela’s doing.

“Oh, this is priceless,” Isabela laughed. “You sure you don’t want to stick around for the show, big girl?”

“Positive,” Aveline said dryly, scooting back from the table with a grimace.

“Neg…Negative!” Hawke gasped. She was proud of herself for actually managing to get the word out and beamed at her. “Shtayyy! There’s…drinks…”

“Varric, you’d better get her upstairs. I’ll try and drop by Gamlen’s for Bethany’s birthday tomorrow, but no promises that I’ll be able to get away,” Aveline said.

Had everyone remembered Bethany’s birthday but Hawke? Fuck, she was the worst sister ever. Not only had she forgotten, but she’d nearly gotten Bethany killed before she turned twenty-one. Some birthday, when Bethany couldn’t even get out of bed after being fucking Smited. Smote. Shit. She’d have to remember to ask Varric whenever the Hanged Man decided to dock at port and she got her land legs back.

“Okay, Hawke. We doing this the hard way or the easy way?” Varric asked her when Aveline left and all attention swung back Hawke’s way.

”Wasss hard?”

“Hard is I sling you over my shoulder, pray that you don’t blow chunks all over my coat, and drop you into the bathtub to sober up.”

That definitely didn’t sound like anything Hawke wanted to be a part of, drunk or sober, so she went with the obvious choice. “M’easy.”

Isabela snorted with laughter. “We all know that, sweet thing.”

“One Hawke served over easy it is. Up we go.”

Hawke whined and made grabby hands when she saw Norah walking in their direction with a tray of fresh drinks, but Varric was a horrible person who obviously hated her and refused to let Hawke have any fun. Hawke lost sense of all space and time when Varric pulled her to her feet and she instantly felt like everything in her body had flipped inside out. She didn’t know how they managed to navigate the stairs, but Varric gave up trying to get Hawke to walk and carried her the rest of the way bridal-style. So, technically, Hawke was medium-rare. Or over medium? She couldn’t think of food analogies right now especially when that stew from earlier was threatening to make an encore appearance.

“Okay, babe. We’re almost there,” Varric huffed in Hawke’s ear. He sounded out of breath, which was offensive because Hawke didn’t weigh _that_ much out of armor. “If you stop moving around, we’d get there even faster. Stay _still_ , Hawke. Hawke!”

Hawke didn’t know what happened after that but the last thing she remembered was Varric’s shout and the floor rushing up to grab her.

\---

Hawke knew without even opening her eyes that she was sprawled out on the floor of Varric's room.

 _Why_ she was on the floor and not his perfectly serviceable bed, Hawke couldn’t begin to work out when her head felt more swollen and tender than an overripe melon. Varric had already proven he could carry a fully-grown Hawke across the entire city slung over his shoulder, even if it had been a slightly more petite Bethany Hawke at the time.

If Hawke was on the floor then that meant he'd _deliberately_ dumped her there. Hawke was going to make him pay for that as soon as she could move without wanting to die first.

"Why am I on the floor, dwarf?" Hawke moaned when the vibration of his boots approaching sent white-hot spokes of pain into her head with each step. When the clomping stopped, Hawke knew without even opening her eyes that he was standing over her, likely with his hands on his hips and an exasperated expression on his face.

"You were rather insistent that I leave you there last night, Hawke. In fact, I think you mentioned something about it being tradition and not wanting to offend the ancestors, which I'm sure they appreciate."

"Maker's hairy asscheeks, what was I thinking?" Hawke dug her palms into her throbbing eye sockets and groaned. "At least throw me a pillow or something next time. This floor isn't getting any softer."

"I'll be sure to speak with my interior decorator," Varric said. His boots moved away again and then came back before he knelt and tugged on Hawke's elbow. "Here. Drink some water."

"Ugghhh," Hawke protested.

Her stomach lurched at the thought of moving or drinking anything ever again. Her brain felt like a tiny boat being tossed about in a sea of liquor and any movement would be guaranteed disaster. Hawke hoped Varric's chamberpot-slash-vase was nearby. She was impressed that she hadn't actually drowned in her own vomit last night, but there was plenty of opportunity yet.

"Unless you want to miss Sunshine's birthday party then I suggest you might want to try getting up sooner rather than later."

"Andraste's tits, are you my mother now?" Hawke snapped, pulling her hands away to glower at him, which was exactly as horrible as Hawke anticipated. The flickering candlelight felt like daggers being stabbed into her eyes before she slammed them shut again.

"Fuck it. I _earned_ this hangover. Just leave me alone."

"Fine, Hawke," Varric said tightly. "I'll give Bethany your regards."

Varric’s boots sounded like sledgehammers as he stormed away and the door slamming was like an entire mountain collapsing down upon her head, but once he left there was only wonderful, blessed silence. Hawke didn't know how long it took her to drag herself off the floor, empty the liquid contents of her stomach into Varric's fancy vase, thoroughly clean out her mouth, and finally get dressed. The process of becoming human once again was grueling enough to almost make her reconsider drinking that much ever again.

Almost.

She noticed that Varric had left her coin purse on his brand new nightstand when she was lacing up her boots - if knotting the ties so badly she eventually said fuck it and stuffed them behind the tongue of her boot instead was considered lacing them. She weighed the purse in her hand and realized half the contents were gone after last night’s losing streak at Wicked Grace, though it would have been empty if she'd been paying for her own drinks.

Hawke did a quick count of the coins, which were still technically Varric’s, and realized there was just enough to pay for one of Corff's infamous hangover cures. The concoction was outlandishly expensive but worked like magic. Hawke wouldn't have been surprised if lyrium was actually one of the ingredients, but she didn’t care as long as it worked.

Varric was such an unbelievable meddler in Hawke's affairs that he probably left that exact amount in her coin purse just so she could buy the potion. Which meant she'd have nothing left to buy Bethany a present with because he was an asshole who would force her to choose between showing up to her sister’s party - their first without Carver – either hungover or empty-handed. She had no doubt this was one of his attempts to teach her a lesson through subtlety and manipulation, or else she was so paranoid these days that she was reading into things that weren't even there.

It was an even bet on which one it was.

Hawke left his room and staggered down the stairs using the wall as support. She all but threw her coin purse at Corff when she stumbled her way over to the bar.

"Afternoon, Hawke!" Corff said far too cheerfully for her current state of self-induced agony as he caught the leather purse and swapped it out for a glass of mint green liquid. "Varric said you might be needing this."

"Varric can fuck off," Hawke growled but snagged the glass and downed its entire contents in several quick swallows.

Corff's hangover cure tasted like a combination of peppermint and ass, and felt like it was crystallizing her insides with ice. Liquid zinged down her esophagus to douse the acidic fire that lurched in her belly before sweeping back up to coat her head in a cool layer that eased the anvil-like pounding in her brain. She almost expected there to be frost on her breath when she exhaled in relief.

"Thanks, Corff," Hawke sighed, handing him back the empty glass with a much improved constitution and attitude. "You're a lifesaver."

"Sure thing, Hawke. Will you be wanting something to eat then? It's still a little early for dinner yet, but I'm sure Norah could whip you up something in the back. Varric said you could just put it on his tab."

"I don't need him taking care of me!" Hawke burst out angrily, rounding on Corff who only blinked at her from across the bar. "Varric can--"

"--fuck off?" Corff finished for her with a faint grin. "Yep. Got it."

Hawke slammed her fist on the bar before dragging her hand roughly through her hair with her teeth bared in a grimace. She managed to get by just fine for the past twenty-five years without Varric fucking Tethras' constant interference in her life. He treated her like a blighted chess game with all of his moves plotted twenty steps ahead of hers while Hawke was still figuring out whether she wanted to be the white pieces or the black.

Well, fuck his games and _fuck_ him. Hawke was done playing.

Hawke's self-righteous fire burned a path all the way to Gamlen's. She was nearly tempted to check if she'd left a path of scorch marks behind her as a side effect of Corff's magical hangover potion. The front door to Gamlen’s house was thrown wide open like someone had broken in, which gave her a minor heart attack until she heard the voices and laughter coming from inside.

Ah. Right. Bethany's birthday.

Hawke's fury petered out as she ran her fingers self-consciously through her fringe and tugged at her shirt, which was only half tucked into her leggings. Andraste's ass, she needed to get a hold of herself. What was she going to do, crash her baby sister's party so she could get into a one-sided screaming match with Varric because he'd taken care of Hawke when she'd been too drunk off her ass to even make it to bed last night? She wouldn't be surprised if he finally got fed up with her shit and decided to break things off right then. Even Hawke wouldn't want to date herself.

Fuck, what was she even doing turning up here looking - and possibly smelling - like yesterday's regurgitated leftovers with nothing to show for it? Maybe it would be best for everyone if she didn't show up to ruin Bethy's day after all, especially not with the shadow of Carver's death already hanging over the occasion.

Hawke had always gone out of her way to mess with Carver in particular on this day in past years. When she was nine, for the twin's fifth birthday she made a production out of giving Bethany a wooden practice sword while she'd given Carver a doll she had made out of old socks stuffed with cotton and tied together with string since she couldn't sew. Hawke had fallen over laughing at the disgust and sheer jealousy on Carver’s chubby face before he'd burst into tears and made Hawke feel like the worst sibling ever.

Malcolm had found the entire thing hilarious but Leandra had been far less amused. Hawke had to wash Carver's socks for a month after that stunt, but of course sweet Bethy had traded their gifts right away. She’d convinced Carver their silly older sister had mixed up their gifts and of _course_ she'd meant to give Carver the sword and Bethany the "doll." The funny thing was Bethany had actually kept that damned doll for years and even persuaded their mother to sew button eyes and yarn for hair so it resembled a doll-like thing instead of the lump of socks and twine it was. Bethany had always been kind and thoughtful that way.

The abrupt realization that Hawke would never get to tease Carver or get him increasingly awful gifts ever again hit her like a blow. The delayed shock nearly knocked her off her feet as she staggered with a hand over her mouth to suppress the sob that wanted to rip free from her chest. It felt like losing him all over again. She couldn't even imagine how Bethany or Leandra felt, pretending their family was happy and that everything was fine while everyone laughed and reveled around them.

Carver was still dead, and it was all Hawke’s fault.

Maker, maybe she _would_ go back to the Gallows and confess everything. A quick drop at the end of a rope would be a mercy compared to the agony of watching her family suffer and fall apart piece by piece. Hawke scrubbed her fists over her eyes and turned to go, hoping that Bethany would forgive her for missing this year's celebration. Hawke planned to do her own celebrating at the bottom of a bottle since Varric had been so thoughtful as to leave his tab at the Hanged Man open for her.

"Hawke!" Merrill called from above, waving to her through the rusted metal spikes that were Lowtown's version of fence posts.

"Merrill, don't--"

"Everyone! Hawke's here!"

Hawke groaned when Merrill turned her head to shout over her shoulder and her announcement was received with unwarranted cheers.

"It took you long enough, Hawke," Merrill chided. "I was worried you might've gotten lost. Varric gave me a ball of twine to use so I can find my way back to the Alienage, but I'd be happy to loan it to you if you think it'd help?"

"That's...no. But thanks, Merrill. Sorry I'm late. I...overslept."

"Better late than never! But you might want to hurry before Snowflake eats the rest of the cake. I tried to save you a piece but he might have found it already."

Hawke meant to ask where the cake had come from since she hadn't gotten the flour and eggs Leandra asked for, but Merrill was nearly knocked off the wall when Snowflake came tearing out of the house with his muzzle streaked blue.

"Get back here you good for nothing mongrel! Bad dog! _Bad dog_!"

Gamlen came running out of the house seconds later. He was missing a shoe and the entire front of his shirt was covered with the same blue stuff as Snowflake. Gamlen’s face was red and very nearly apoplectic. He stopped at the top of the stairs and glared at them as Snowflake nosed Hawke's hand and barked a quick greeting before he disappeared down the street. Hawke glanced down at what appeared to be frosting smeared across her palm. She shook her head and she wiped her hand off on her trousers.

"There you are. I don't suppose you brought any more cake with you?" Gamlen snapped.

Hawke held out her empty hands and grinned, falsely apologetic. "Fresh out, sorry."

"Figures. And he had to eat my piece too." Gamlen grumbled and then looked her over with judgment written all over his face. "Hmph. You may as well come in. Your sister already opened presents. I don't suppose _you_ got her anything, did you?"

"Did you?" Hawke shot back, gratified when Gamlen went purple and spun on his heel to go back inside.

Hawke very well couldn't leave now, so she gritted her teeth and plastered a smile upon her face. She made her way up the stairs leading to the house, ever ready to play the jester in the dramatic reenactment that was her life. Fenris lingered near the doorway nursing a bottle of wine that made her head twinge just looking at it.

"Hawke," he said in his usual, brisk manner and Hawke's smile softened into something a little more real.

"Fenris. Glad to see you could make it."

"Same could be said for you."

"It’s called being fashionably late."

"Fashionable being subjective."

Fenris looked her up and down in a slightly less judgmental manner than Gamlen had and snorted softly, lips upturned against the rim of his bottle. Hawke glanced down to make sure she hadn't accidentally shown up naked, but had to admit it was strange to be without her armor. She would have been stripped of everything in prison had turning herself in at the Gallows actually succeeded. She'd seen no point in dressing in more than the bare minimum lest her armor and weapons end up in some nameless guard's possession. She wasn't _entirely_ incapable of foresight and planning…only mostly.

She probably could have gone through Varric's drawers and found something a little more substantial to wear, but even getting her boots on the right feet had been a challenge. Varric probably knew she would have shanked him had he left her his coat. He'd already been pushing it with the coin purse and potion and putting Hawke on his tab. She didn't plan on being a cheap date after this, if she’d ever been one to begin with.

Isabela was on her like a mabari in heat the instant Hawke moved away from Fenris and shuffled inside to face the music. She threw an arm around Hawke's shoulders and placed her lips so close to her ear that it was very nearly a kiss.

"I knew Varric was worried about you having alcohol poisoning for nothing. I told him you had the tolerance of a bronto but I think that dwarf gets off on fretting. Speaking of things that get him off..." she purred.

"Not a chance, Isabela," Hawke laughed, pushing her away.

"You'll have to tell me eventually, Hawke. That is, if you don't want me to parse together my own interpretation of events based on what I've overheard."

"Isabela! Are you _spying_ on me?" Hawke demanded with feigned outrage.

"Sweet thing, I don't have to spy when you project."

Hawke ducked to hide her grin, looking up at Isabela through her eyelashes until Isabela groaned and shoved her forward by her shoulder.

"Go see to your sister, lush. We'll talk later."

In the main room sat a long table that Hawke found in a rubbish pile a few months after they'd arrived in Kirkwall. She dragged it into Gamlen's house after giving it a thorough scrubbing and replacing its missing leg with a formless plank of wood that was slightly too short and made the table wobble whenever anyone so much as breathed on it. A carpenter Hawke was not. Had Carver still been alive Hawke would have hounded him relentlessly and demanded he live up to his name until he actually learned some useful trade skills and fixed the table better than she had done.

There were only four mismatched chairs since they didn't usually have company, but someone had dragged the heavy writing desk chair over to the head of the table, which was where Bethany sat. Or rather, where she had been propped with Leandra and Varric sitting to either side of her.

"Marian! You're here!"

Bethany was ghastly pale, especially against the darkness of her hair and eyes, but her smile lit up as bright as ever when she saw Hawke. Despite anything else Hawke felt about whether or not she belonged there, she could feel herself falling in love with that smile as helplessly as she had the first time their father had placed that tiny, swaddled bundle in Hawke's arms and Bethy had given her a gummy grin. Carver had cried and pissed on her, which pretty much defined their relationship from that point onward.

"I wouldn't miss your birthday for the world, sweet," Hawke said as she gently wrapped an arm around Bethany's shoulders and dropped a kiss into her lank hair. Something red caught her eye and she pulled back to admire the brand new scarf wrapped around Bethany's elegant neck. It was dyed a deep, rich red that looked gorgeous on her, as most things did.

"Hey. Who got you this?" Hawke said, fingering the scarf and finding it surprisingly soft despite not being made of terribly expensive fabric.

Bethany giggled and swatted at Hawke with the tail end of her scarf. "Why, you did, silly."

Hawke faltered and barely kept from blurting "I did?" when she caught a flash of movement to Bethany's left where Varric was sitting. He was giving her a _look_ and suddenly it clicked.

"Ah. Of course. I knew I sensed someone with amazing taste," Hawke said in an overdone, haughty manner to cover her temporary slip.

Apparently Varric's meddling had no end, but Hawke couldn't be anything except grateful for the smile and flush of color the scarf brought to Bethany's cheeks. It was a perfect gift, which meant that it couldn't possibly have come from Hawke. More often than not Bethany received socks for her birthday every year - partly as a running gag, and mostly because Hawke was just that bad at picking out gifts. Hopefully, Bethany thought Hawke had help in choosing this year because Maker forbid she learn the truth.

"What else did you get?" Hawke said as she ignored...okay, _avoided_...looking at anyone else and focused all of her attention on Bethany.

Fenris had given Bethany a bottle of wine, of course, which she would probably pass along to Hawke or Gamlen. She didn't drink much for fear of losing control over her magic, which Hawke doubted would ever happen. Bethany was far too careful and disciplined. Merrill had given her a startlingly elegant hand mirror framed with scrollwork in the shape of leaves and vines.

Bethany tucked her hair behind her ear to show off the small but lovely rubies that dangled from her lobes - Isabela's gift. Leandra had sewn Bethany a new dress in a deep, rich blue and even Snowflake had given her a present in the form of a rather sorry-looking shoe. It had several teeth marks and holes in it and more than likely belonged to Gamlen, if his socked foot was any indication.

"And what did you get my sister?" Hawke asked Varric, desperate not to be the only one besides Gamlen who didn’t get Bethany anything.

"Who do you think organized all this and got everyone together, Hawke?" Varric replied with mock-affront as he swept his hand out to encompass the room. "Parties don't just throw themselves."

"I suppose this was your doing as well?" Hawke gestured bitterly to the remaining crumbs and smears of frosting on a large plate in the center of the table.

"You can't complain about not getting any if you weren't here on time," Varric admonished. "And actually, Aveline brought that by as an apology for not being able to stay."

"A blue cake? Wait, Aveline bakes?"

"Apparently our favorite Guard-Captain is just as fearsome with a wooden spoon as she is with a sword. The cake was decorated with blue frosting and a yellow sun right in the middle for our Sunshine. It was cute, if not a little dry for my taste."

"It's a shame Snowflake ate it."

"Nah, he only ate Gamlen's piece. I think Daisy hid yours around here somewhere, but good luck finding it."

"Just what we need. Ants."

"I hear they're a good substitute for sprinkles."

Hawke didn't know how Varric could do it, be so forgiving and easy-going when Hawke was nothing but awful to him and far more trouble than she was worth. She felt stuck in a vortex of negativity and despair lately and was afraid of pulling anyone else in with her. Things used to roll off her back all the time. She'd even taken Carver's death as well as could be expected. After the ogre attack, she suppressed all emotion save anger and forced their group to move before they were taken over by darkspawn instead of burying or mourning over Carver’s remains.

The anger had held strong until now, but Hawke felt like she was fraying at the edges. She’d heard horror stories about Ostagar after the battle, about how the darkspawn had feasted upon the corpses of fallen soldiers and desecrated King Cailan's body. Even worse were the terrified whispers about what happened to the women darkspawn dragged off still alive. Hawke hated the idea of those monsters using her brother's bones to clean their teeth, but feared even more for Leandra, Bethany, Aveline, or herself being taken.

If they weren’t eaten alive first, then they’d be raped over and over again and forced to churn out darkspawn from their tainted wombs in hoards. Made into broodmothers...and Hawke was planning to go voluntarily down into the Deep Roads where that particular nightmare could very well become reality. She would kill herself before ever being taken.

"Marian," Leandra said hesitantly, startling Hawke from her brooding. Hawke mentally winced at the terrible choice of words. "Could I speak with you?"

"Um, yeah. Here?" Hawke glanced around uncertainly. The last thing she wanted to do was get into another fight with her mother in front of everyone.

"We can talk in the bedroom."

Hawke couldn’t recall the last time she felt so nervous about being alone with her mother. Hawke might be strong, reckless - nigh on invincible some would say - but Leandra had the ability to bring her to her knees with one look. Hawke had always felt clumsy and brutish compared to the elegance Leandra and Bethany exuded. She almost thought it would have been better if she'd been born a boy, if only so her decidedly unladylike qualities wouldn't be such an embarrassment and disappointment.

Leandra had gotten the perfect children in her second attempt; a sweet, beautiful girl who was everything a mother could ever hope for - magic notwithstanding - and a strong, loyal boy who had only gotten into trouble when his older sister provoked him.

Hawke had always felt like the odd one out.

Their father had spent most of his time training Bethany while Hawke and Carver hit each other with sticks. Malcolm taught them what little he knew of sword work until he could afford to hire an ex-soldier from town to teach them.

Carver had thrived at sword training whereas Hawke was more adept at sneaky tricks and “copping out” with daggers. Her unconventional methods ended up being far more effective at diverting templars and rogue bandits than a teenaged boy attempting to engage them head-on with an old sword, thus she earned the bulk of their father’s praise. Carver had used the excuse of wanting to get out from beneath Hawke's shadow when he'd gone off to enlist in King Cailan's army. He'd been a true swordsman, an asset in any fight, while Hawke had joined on a lark just to piss off Carver.

They'd fought well together, when he'd stopped hating her enough to actually work as a team. She was the diversion and he the battering ram. Together they had been all but invincible, surviving even Loghain's betrayal in Ostagar when he’d pulled out his forces at the critical moment and damned the rest of them. King Cailan’s army had been all but slaughtered save for two Grey Wardens and a handful of Cailan's men, which included the Hawke siblings.

She and Carver had run home, not caring if it would be seen as desertion. They tried to get as many people out of Lothering as they could when the darkspawn, fresh off their victory in Ostagar, turned their sights onto the next village. They'd been too late. They only managed to get out with their mother and Bethany by the skin of their teeth, picking up Aveline along the way but losing her husband, Wesley, to the blight disease.

And then the ogre had come.

Carver had been a full head and shoulders taller than Hawke, built like a brick shithouse, and a skilled warrior by that point. That monster had picked him up in one hand and snapped him like a twig before tossing him aside like trash. She could recall the exact, horrific crunch of his spine breaking, the meaty thump of his body as it hit the ground, and still see his bloodied face slack and eyes fixed unseeingly on a point beyond her reach in her nightmares.

Hawke drank and fought and fucked to forget, but Leandra had none of those vices. She lived with the horror of having watched the child she had grown in her belly, raised into a proud young man, and seen survive a war only to die at the hands of a single darkspawn. Hawke would have gone mad reliving that nightmare day after day in her waking hours like Leandra apparently did. No wonder she wished she hadn’t survived.

"I thought you weren't going to come today," Leandra said, hands folding in front of her when they were enclosed in the room together, just the two of them. Hawke knew their bedroom was small, but she swore it felt no bigger than a coffin.

"Mother, I--"

Hawke bit her lip and fell silent when Leandra raised her hand.

"I've been replaying it over and over...what I said to you."

Hawke cringed, not wanting to rehash _that_ particularly awful conversation, but Leandra was on a mission and wouldn't be derailed until she said her piece.

"Marian... I am so, so sorry. I should have never said any of those things or made you think you were unwelcome in your own home. Of course I don't blame you for Carver's death. I've been thinking about him constantly with his and Bethany's birthday...the first one without him, and...oh..." Leandra fanned her face desperately as tears filled her eyes. "I just miss him _so much_."

Hawke moved before she realized she was going to and wrapped Leandra up in a hug tight enough to take their breath away. Leandra gave a sob and buried her face in Hawke's shoulder, her own shaking as she quietly cried. Hawke could feel her eyes burning and squeezed them shut until the urge to scream or break something faded.

Nothing about this situation was fair. Not being forced to flee from templars, not having their village overrun by darkspawn, not Carver’s death, and certainly not being made to live in squalor while their ancestral home was overtaken by slavers.

Hawke could admit, truthfully, that Leandra was doing the best she could in shitty circumstances. Hawke couldn't possibly know how difficult it must have been to leave a life of nobility and her own family behind in order to be with the man she loved and raise three children while constantly on the run. Bethany had been kept out of the Circle while Hawke and Carver had been allowed to train and fight and run wild because of Leandra and Malcolm’s sacrifices.

Hawke could only imagine how her life might have been had Leandra stayed in Kirkwall like the her family had wanted when the Amells had discovered Leandra was pregnant. Hawke would have never known her father and very likely Bethany and Carver wouldn't have been born at all. She'd have been raised a lady; stuffed into fancy gowns, made to recite poetry, and know without being told which fork to use. She’d never imagine fighting alongside a pirate or an escaped slave or blood mage one day. She might have met Varric in passing, but she would have been nothing more than another rich yet ultimately useless noble to him.

Hawke would have eventually been married off to some nobleman's son, maybe popped out a few kids to carry on the family name, and have done absolutely nothing remarkable with her life.

As much as she disliked Kirkwall, Hawke wouldn't change any of it.

...Except Meredith. And the Templar Order. And Darktown. And Gamlen. And Corff's Friday specials, but even those things Hawke could deal with if that meant a house full of people she loved, and Bethany and her mother safe.

"I'm sorry, too," Hawke whispered into Leandra's silver hair, which had probably gone prematurely grey no thanks to her.

"Oh, would you just look at the pair of us," Leandra said with a little laugh as she pulled away to dab delicately beneath her eyes with her fingertips. "Crying like two...oh, I don't know what."

"I'm not crying!" Hawke protested, though she swiped a hand across her cheeks just in case.

Leandra took Hawke's face gently between her hands and smiled at her for the first time in what felt like forever. If Hawke wondered where Bethany got her stunning smile from, she needn't have wondered any longer. Hawke swallowed hard, determined that she _wouldn't_ cry no matter what Leandra said.

"I am _so_ proud of you, love. I know you're doing your best and would never put Bethany in harm's way on purpose. We're only here, together, because of you. I won't ever forget what you've done for us all, including Carver." Leandra's smile wobbled but held as she brushed her thumb over Hawke's cheekbone and Hawke pretended it didn't come away wet. "Oh, my beautiful girl. I do love you."

Hawke struggled to hold out, she really did, but then Leandra started to cry again, silent tears that streaked down her cheeks, and Hawke... Hawke gave in and buried her face against her mother's shoulder, refusing to come up again until her stupid leaking eyeballs got their act together and dried up.

"I should go see to Bethany and our guests," Leandra said when they'd finally managed to shut off the waterworks. "Take a moment to get settled, love, but don't be too long."

Leandra cupped her cheek and brushed a kiss against her forehead when Hawke ducked down obligingly. Leandra gave her one last fond look before she left the room and closed the door behind her. Hawke stared at the door, feeling lost and overwhelmed but blessedly lighter after her and Leandra's little heart-to-heart. She sat down on the bottom bunk of her and Bethany’s bed and laced her fingers together behind her head as she blew out a long breath. She'd need more than a moment to compose herself after all that, but a moment was all she got.

A soft knock tapped on the door and Hawke wasn't surprised in the least when Varric opened it a crack and poked his head through. "Everything okay in here?"

"Just peachy," Hawke said with an effusive laugh as she scrubbed the tear stains from her face. She wished she had thought to grab Bethany's hand mirror, but she wouldn't be able to get anything past Varric. Normally, he would take the hint and distract Hawke with an inane joke or story to take her mind off matters, but he was apparently determined to take this whole dating thing far too seriously and went off script.

"I didn't hear any yelling so I thought one of you must have skipped the monologue and killed the other, which was more or less confirmed when only Leandra returned from your talk."

"Oh, there was plenty of monologuing. Don't worry."

Most of it had been in Hawke's head, but Varric didn't need to know that.

"I knew I taught you right." Varric stepped inside and closed the door behind him. Hawke raised an eyebrow and he smirked, holding up his empty palms. "No funny business. I promise."

"That's too bad. I could use a laugh."

Varric didn't take the obvious opening, instead leaning against the door with his arms loosely folded as he waited her out. Whereas Hawke had felt claustrophobic locked in the room with Leandra, she felt the stretch of empty space between her and Varric and longed to breach that gap. She clasped her hands between her knees and stared down at the floor instead.

"I really fucked up today," Hawke said quietly. "I should have never drank so much or made you think you had to take care of me or do all this for Bethany just because I dropped the ball. And say what you want about my ball handling skills, Varric, but I can't promise that it'll get any better from here. If you want an out then take it and run. I swear I won't blame you at all if this isn't what you want."

If _she_ wasn't what he wanted, Hawke really meant to say.

"I swear on Andraste's flaming pyre, if you're giving me the 'let's just be friends' speech, Hawke..."

"No," Hawke said with a laugh or a sob, she couldn't tell which. "Maker help me. I don't know what enchantment you'd have to fall under to still want anything to do with me after all I’ve put you through, but I'd track down the witch who spelled you and kiss her…with tongue and everything. And maybe even buy her dinner after."

"Careful, Hawke, or I might start to think you loved me or something."

"It's a theory anyway."

Varric pushed off the door and walked the three steps it took to reach the bedside. He lifted Hawke's chin and kissed her so tenderly that it completely undermined the careful aloofness in her previous statement. He held her steady as he took his time tasting her lips, chasing her tongue with his own, and filling all of the dark spaces within Hawke like the warm, buzzing glow of a thousand fireflies.

The kiss grew heated quickly, as theirs was wont to do especially at the most inappropriate times or places. Like when her mother and sister and uncle and everyone else in half the bloody city was on the other side of the door.

Hawke broke the kiss and stood, backing Varric against the door until he made contact with a rattling thump. Hawke didn’t intend on getting caught in a compromising position by their family and friends, so she shushed him and pointed at the door to remind him of everyone who was on the other side. She resisted the urge to bite and nip at Varric's bottom lip to avoid reopening the cut that had actually started to heal after a day without her gnawing upon it, but as far as Hawke was concerned his neck and chest and everything below his chin was free game.

"I almost forgot. I brought you something," Varric said and then bit off a gasp when Hawke went down to her knees. She yanked at his belt buckle and lacings until she had his cock freed.

"Later," Hawke said and swallowed him down to the root.

The back of Varric's head thumped loudly against the door and they both froze. When no one came rushing in to investigate, Hawke glared up at him in warning and bit her nails into his hips as she sucked him so hard she worried that his skin might bruise. Not so worried that she stopped, of course, but with Varric's hands tight in her hair Hawke lost herself to the taste and feel of him deep within her throat. She was getting turned on turning him on but stayed true to her task, wanting nothing more than to take him apart.

She wanted to punish him and thank him at the same time for everything he'd done for her, for making sure she didn't die of alcohol poisoning and for getting Bethany a present because he was a far better sibling to Hawke's sister than she'd ever been. The fact that Bartrand couldn't stand him kept her teeth sheathed, glad that _someone_ didn't find Varric as stupidly perfect as she did.

She growled low in her throat and dug her nails in until Varric started tugging frantically on her hair and moaning, "Hawke, Hawke, _Hawke_."

Hawke pulled back just in time for the pulses of his release to stripe hot and wet over her chin and throat and the tops of her breasts with a last, weak spurt dribbling down between her scant cleavage. Varric looked ridiculous, flushed from his chest up with his pants undone and hair falling loose and sweaty around his face. Hawke wanted immediately to take him back in her mouth and do it all over again, but even she wasn't that cruel.

"A pearl necklace wasn't exactly what I had in mind when you said you had a gift for me, Varric," Hawke said dryly as she glanced down the deep v-cut of her shirt, where Varric was also staring.

Varric dropped his head lightly back against the door with a shaky laugh before he sunk down to his knees.

"So picky, Hawke! And after I spent hours agonizing over the price and quality and whether to get you two strands or three..."

"Shut up, dwarf," Hawke said, fisting her hand in his hair and dragging his mouth against hers in a hungry kiss that had very little to do with the fact that everything she'd eaten the past week was currently sitting at the bottom of the vase in Varric's room.

She should probably warn him about that, but then he sucked at her bottom lip and throat, moving downward as he licked his own come off her skin, and she forgot anything that wasn't his mouth burning her and tasting them together. He all but ripped her shirt off to get at her breasts but Hawke managed to yank it over her head and toss it aside before he did any lasting damage. She didn’t have that many shirts to spare and still couldn’t sew more than clumsy stitches to keep someone, or herself, from bleeding out.

He didn't bother with removing her breastband. Instead, he tugged the cups down until he freed her breasts and sucked a nipple into his mouth. Hawke didn't know when she'd ended up on her back but he crawled over her, straddled her thigh as he undid her laces, and shoved his hand down the front of her pants.

Hawke bit her tongue in an effort not to cry out and scrabbled blindly for anything to stifle her noises before she gave them away. Her hand met cloth and she very nearly stuffed a dirty sock into her mouth until she realized what she was doing and dropped it with a grimace in favor of biting down on her wrist instead. Varric managed to get one boot and one pant leg off her in that time, which was all he needed to hook her knee over his shoulder, draw her smallclothes aside, and bury his face and hand between her legs.

Hawke's teeth clamped down so hard on her wrist to keep from shouting that she was certain she'd break skin. Her eyes rolled back and her hips bucked upward as Varric licked and sucked and fucked his fingers into her relentlessly, bullying the orgasm so fast out of Hawke that she hadn't even drawn breath to scream by the time she was already coming.

The orgasm was so strong that she couldn't stop arching and rolling her hips until Varric had to physically hold her down. He let her have his fingers to clench around as he pressed down on her pelvic bone just below her navel with his other hand. His lips were hot on the jut of her hipbone as he whispered fierce endearments and praise until Hawke felt like her stifled sobs would turn into actual crying again, which would have been intolerable.

Hawke decided she hated quickies right then and there.

She needed hours wrapped up in his arms while he told her all the ways he loved her in the soft cadence of his voice and the tenderness of his fingers stroking her hair and skin without actually coming out and saying the words that would scare her off. Instead, they only had time for a hasty clean up with the sock Hawke had discarded. They got dressed quickly and tried to pretend they didn’t just have sex in the middle of Bethany's birthday party. Varric gave her a playful smack on the thigh to get her moving when she was slow to follow suit after he had already wiped down and tucked himself away.

"I thought you said you had a present for me?" Hawke said. She hastily tucked her shirt in as Varric reached for the door with his hair and coat perfectly back in place.

"Oh shit, that's right."

Varric cursed as he patted himself down until he found what he was looking for and handed her a flat, square box.

"Don't open it yet," he said, placing his hand on top of hers when Hawke started to lift the lid off right away.

"Why? Did you get me a butt plug, Varric Tethras?"

"What? Maferath's balls, Hawke, of course _you_ would think that. No, it's not a butt plug, but thanks for the image."

"Well, damn. I don't want it now," Hawke said. She tried to shove the box back into Varric's hands but he laughed and caught her around the back of the neck to pull her down for a kiss.

"Mmm," Hawke sighed, wrapping herself around him in an attempt to start something all over again.

The party would still go on without them, surely.

"Hawke," Varric admonished as he ripped his mouth away from hers, but he was looking at her lips like he could stand to be convinced.

Hawke smiled, dark and filthy, as she tucked the box he'd given her into her waistband and reached up to adjust his collar. "You'd better get out of here before I decide to start unwrapping my present," she purred, sliding her hands slowly down Varric's chest to tug pointedly on his belt.

"You're a menace."

He caught her hands when they made to slip even lower and brought them up to kiss her knuckles.

"Admit it. You wouldn't have me any other way," Hawke said airily.

"I admit nothing," Varric countered, but he didn't go anywhere when Hawke leaned down to rest her forehead against his.

Hawke closed her eyes, sharing breaths, and listening to the muffled laughter of the gathering behind them. She could stay like this forever, but she knew someone would come looking for them sooner rather than later. She'd just as well avoid any more awkward conversations especially when she and her mother were actually starting to mend their damaged relationship.

"You go out first and I'll follow behind in a minute. Less suspicious that way."

"Am I your dirty little secret now, Hawke? And to think, I was already carving our initials into tree trunks."

Hawke pulled back to look at him, but she couldn’t tell if he was honestly hurt by her reluctance to make their relationship “public,” as it were, or simply teasing. For her own sanity, she decided to go the teasing route.

"Considering the only trees around here are either in the Alienage or in Sundermount under the protection of the Dalish, even you wouldn't be dumb enough to piss off a bunch of elves - including Merrill,” she said. “Besides, I was only trying to spare you from Mother's interrogation about your intentions and when you plan to make an honest woman out of me. Not to mention questions about your work, your family, how you plan to support me, and when she can expect grandchildren."

Hawke wished she was still joking, but she was actually dead serious. Hawke, Bethany, and Carver had never brought any of their lovers home for that exact reason. Leandra was on a never ending quest to get either she or Bethany married off and was desperate for a gaggle of grandchildren underfoot, but neither Hawke nor her sister were ready for that yet.

And by Varric's terrified expression, he wasn't either.

"I see your point," he said faintly, jerking a thumb at the door while staring at her with wide eyes in a face gone pale. "I'll just be...yeah."

Hawke snickered and leaned against the wall when he all but fled like his tailcoats had caught fire. She reached for the present she had tucked away and smoothed her fingers over the polished wood. The box was unmarked without any artist or merchant brands to give her a clue as to what was inside. She had a strong suspicion that it was not, however, a butt plug or a sex toy of any kind.

Hawke would get distracted far too easily if she let her mind wander in that direction so she opened the box without any fanfare. The glitter of silver and sapphires all but blinded her and she nearly dropped the box in shock.

Hawke gasped as she ghosted her fingers over the gorgeous necklace pillowed on a bed of lace. It was more elegant and far more expensive than anything she'd ever owned in her life. It appeared old and dwarven in design, possibly even a family heirloom despite the fact Varric snubbed his nose at such mementos, but it had been well taken care of. The sapphires were a shade darker than Hawke's own eyes, but they glinted with lighter flecks of blue like someone had captured the tempest of winter and carefully crafted it inside each stone. Hawke's hands shook as she carefully lifted the necklace and set the box aside.

The weight of the piece was substantial, solid, and could very likely fund their entire expedition and feed her family for years to come. The necklace rested snug, but not tight, against her throat when she draped it around her neck. It was a latticework of teardrop-shaped sapphires connected by thick links of silver or silverite. The lowest hanging jewel dipped between her breasts and Hawke was glad that Varric had licked all of his jizz off her before she ruined his gift. Like she’d been caught under a spell, the fog lifted and Hawke realized the gravity of what Varric had given her.

The necklace suddenly weighed more than chainmail, more than a mountain - or thaig in Varric's case – and seemed to bear down on her chest, squeezing her lungs until she was forced to gasp for her next breath. He'd obviously been holding onto the necklace for a long while and it wasn't something that he would just give away on a whim. Not unless it was cursed. Hawke was almost positive cursed items were standard gifts for twenty-year anniversaries, not ones less than a week old. She'd never be able to wear it, of course – cursed or not. Even if she managed to avoid being mugged within the first thirty seconds after stepping outside, she didn't own any fancy dresses - or any dress, for that matter - that would do such an exquisite necklace justice.

There was also so much more that went without saying, not even considering the price the stones alone would fetch. The necklace was a promise, a statement of intent despite the unspoken agreement that Leandra finding out about their relationship would be an unmitigated disaster. Varric was all but declaring her family by giving Hawke something like this, something that had obviously been in his own family for generations. Maker forbid anything should ever happen to him, but Hawke knew he would want her to sell it in order to take care of her and her family if he wasn't around to do it himself.

Hawke felt like there was fire and ice racing through her veins. She alternated between flushed and chilled as she delicately placed the necklace back into its box and closed the lid tightly. She was torn between wishing Varric hadn't given her such a priceless gift and unbearably grateful that he had. Hawke wasn't usually possessive over people or things, but fuck it. If Varric and she were really doing this then they were going in all or nothing.

She didn’t have anything to give him in return, except for herself, and she didn’t need an appraiser to tell her who’d gotten the better end of that deal.

Hawke hid the box at the bottom of her trunk after stuffing it inside a lone sock that had been drifting around without a mate for some time. Unless the other half was the sad, crumpled sock she'd tossed under the bed after being used to clean up Varric's come, in which case this sock definitely had the more preferable fate. She'd have to find a better hiding place later, especially if Gamlen got the urge to snoop around, but the trunk would do for now.

Hawke left the bedroom door open a crack and hoped the musk of sex would dissipate by the time Leandra and Bethany went to bed. She also hoped she wasn't as flushed as she felt, but her hope was dashed to pieces when Isabela cornered her just as Hawke was exiting the room.

"You _slut_ , Hawke!" Isabela hissed in delight, quiet enough not to be overheard by anyone else behind them, thankfully.

She boxed her in with an arm against the wall next to Hawke's head as she poked at the faint red marks on Hawke's chest that she hadn't noticed when lacing up the front of her shirt. "I knew it was bad, but I'm going to have to start carrying around a bucket of water to keep you two off each other for longer than two seconds."

"You're just upset you didn’t get to watch," Hawke said, matching Isabela’s whisper.

"Damn right I am! What’s a pirate gotta do to get tossed a bone every now and then?”

“Bone or boner?”

“What do you think, sweet thing?”

“Sorry, Bela, but you’ll just have to find someone else’s bones…or boner…to jump. This one’s all mine.”

Hawke assumed it went without saying that she and Varric had exclusive rights on each other, although they both demonstrated slightly voyeuristic tendencies. If Isabela hung around them long enough then she might very well get a show.

Isabela finally let her go with one more threatening glance that was far less effective when Isabela was blatantly staring down her top.

“Yours are far more interesting, trust me,” Hawke said. She traced the side of Isabela’s breast and recalled far too keenly the weight and curve of it in her palm, on her tongue, and had to clear her throat before dropping her hand guiltily. They’d only slept together a handful of times, but even once was memorable with Isabela at the helm.

“If you and Varric ever decide you’re up for a threesome…”

“You’ll be the first I call since I don’t think Varric’s into broody elves.”

Isabela laughed. “What terrible taste that dwarf has! Honestly, Hawke. I don’t know what you see in him.”

“It’s the chest hair. And the way he handles a trigger.”

“I’ll bet.”

It was getting to be around dinnertime and even though they didn’t really have anything to offer guests, no one seemed in any rush to leave. As usual, Varric instigated a casual game of Wicked Grace centered around Bethany at the table. Hawke stood behind her chair to “help” though after the second losing hand Bethany shooed her away when she concluded Hawke was more hindrance than help. So Hawke put her skills to use and attempted to sabotage the others instead, which was far more fun and effective in the long run.

"Bethany, I believe it's bed for you, young lady," Leandra said after the third time Bethany yawned in as many minutes. Leandra started to push away from the table but Hawke jumped up first.

"Let me take her. I haven't spent any time alone with Bethany yet today."

"If you're certain..." Leandra said hesitantly.

"Don't stop the party on my account. I'm not tired," Bethany murmured as if the arms of the chair weren't the only thing keeping her from toppling over. Her chin was practically bobbing against her chest and she could barely keep her eyes open. She made such a valiant, if not stubborn, attempt to remain awake that she reminded Hawke achingly of herself.

"Are you kidding? With these hooligans? I can guarantee they won't even notice the guest of honor has gone missing for at least another hour or two."

Hawke gestured to where Varric, Isabela, Fenris, Merrill, and Gamlen were all preoccupied with their game after Bethany had bowed out a few hands ago, content to watch.

"I'm sorry I'm not better yet. I would have liked to stay. It's rare to have everyone over when there isn't a job or some disaster involved."

"There will be plenty of opportunity for more parties later, Bethy. Let's get you to bed so you can get your strength back all that much sooner."

Hawke could have easily scooped Bethany up and carried her to their room, but she wrapped her arm around her waist and let her say her farewells before helping her walk mostly on her own. Hawke didn't think Bethany noticed the faint traces of her and Varric's tryst still lingering in the air, for which she was immensely grateful. They'd have to be a bit more selective where they decided to jump each other in the future if they didn't want to get caught, but she had to admit the danger of discovery was part of the thrill.

Hawke helped Bethany undress down to her shift and tucked her into bed, drawing the covers up to her chin and fluffing her pillows until Hawke was satisfied.

"Stay?" Bethany asked softly, like she was four and begging Hawke for a bedtime story. Hawke had never been able to deny Bethany anything, not then and certainly not now, especially when she was looking at her with those big brown eyes of hers.

"Just until you fall asleep," Hawke conceded as she sat on the edge of the bed and smoothed a curl from Bethany's cheek.

"I had a good day today," Bethany whispered with a shy smile, as if it were a secret.

Hawke had to blink a few times and clear her throat before she could rasp out, "I'm glad, Bethy. Me too."

It wasn't even a lie.

The beginning had sucked, certainly, though it’d been no one's fault but her own. The day had only improved from the time she’d woken up and crawled off of Varric’s floor. She'd gotten to see her family and friends, minus Aveline, together in one place, happy and carefree in a combination that seemed nearly impossible. She'd made up with Leandra and Varric, though the necklace he had given Hawke made her think of a bomb waiting to go off in her trunk. Still, they actually managed to get through the party without Carver, even though he'd been very much in their hearts.

Hawke didn't expect one good day to outweigh the bad, but she was glad that Bethany would at least have the memory of today to fall back on should those good days find themselves rare in the future.

She was a pragmatist, if nothing else.

"You never did tell me about this special someone you’re seeing, sister," Bethany teased, tapping a finger against the side of her neck to indicate one of the many, many marks Varric had left on Hawke. "I promise I won't tell mother, if that's what you're worried about. I know how she gets."

"Oh, they're special all right," Hawke tried to sound irritated, but was unable to mask the affectionate tones in her voice entirely. "I have never met anyone I've wanted to strangle and kiss at the same time. _All_ the time.”

"That sounds so wonderful!" Bethany laughed, cheeks going pink with delight. "Whoever this person is they make you come alive, Marian. I haven't seen you so passionate about anything for such a long time. You've just been...existing…lately. I was getting worried," she admitted softly. "But maybe now I don't have to worry so much. Will I ever get to meet them?"

Bethany was so honestly, unselfishly happy for her that Hawke couldn't bring herself to lie to her. Bethany reminded her a little bit of Merrill. They were both innocent to a fault in some ways, but surprisingly resilient in others. Of course, if Bethany ever used blood magic Hawke would drag her down to the Gallows by her hair and dump her off at Meredith's office herself, and Bethany damn well knew it.

"You already have, actually. Several times. Believe me, you're not missing out on anything."

"Oh, of course," Bethany gasped. "I can't believe I didn't realize it sooner! It’s so obvious now."

"What’s obvious?" Hawke asked, twisting her fingers in Bethany's bedsheets nervously.

"You and Isabela of course!"

"Isa--what?" Hawke nearly yanked the sheets from right under Bethany in surprise. Bethany blinked at her, smile fading uncertainly when she saw how startled Hawke was.

"You mean she’s not…? I thought you and Isabela were...um...intimate?"

Hawke blushed furiously, not helped by the fact Bethany was doing the same.

"I, uh...that is," Hawke stumbled, fighting for an explanation without going into graphic detail. "I mean we were, ah...physical...but it wasn't serious. I mean, Isabela's great and all, but she's not the type to settle down behind a white picket fence, you know?"

Sex with Isabela had been incredibly hot, but it was also a lot like trying to tame a tempest. She was a flurry of motion and danger and passion in bed or in a fight, and half the time Hawke hadn't known which was which. Isabela oozed confidence and sexuality like she breathed, comfortable in her own skin and in her own desires, and she wasn't at all hesitant about going after what she wanted. Which…at one point in time had been Hawke. And she had only been too happy to reciprocate.

Isabela, who carried the taste of the sea upon her lips and her skin and between her legs, who made love like it was the last and first time, refused to give herself to any one person. Bedding the captain was a once in a lifetime experience Hawke had been privileged enough to have experienced several times.

Isabela...she saw, she conquered, and _then_ she came - sometimes several times - before moving on like the ebb and flow of the sea. They parted on amicable terms when Hawke had started covering Isabela’s ass more than her own and found herself wanting more than the occasional drunken fling. Love had no part in Isabela's world, whereas Hawke loved like a damned mabari imprinted upon a single master. A rare bond, certainly, but once formed nearly unbreakable save for death. Only on extremely rare occasions did a mabari imprint a second time, but many never survived their master.

Hawke was no man or woman's bitch, however. She’d never let herself get attached, always leaving or breaking things off before they got too serious, but somewhere along the way Varric had snuck beneath her skin and set his hooks into her. He never asked for more than what she was willing to give and accepted her exactly as she was; figurative warts and all. Even Bethany could see that Hawke had changed in the few days since they’d gotten together. Perhaps even before then. It felt like so much longer, like their relationship had been inevitably headed in this direction since the moment they met.

"And you are?" Bethany asked, curling her hand around Hawke’s with an intense light in her eyes that Hawke hadn’t noticed had faded until it was turned full blast upon her.

"Am I what?"

"Looking for the white picket fence?"

"I mean, I'm not getting any younger," Hawke blustered, flushing when Bethany squeezed her hand knowingly. Hawke could easily pull her hand away, but she didn't, sagging in defeat instead. "I don't know, Bethany. I didn't really expect any of this, but now I think that maybe it wouldn't be completely impossible...that maybe it would even be something to look forward to? I don't know. I don't know what I'm doing or how not to fuck it up."

"Marian," Bethany squeezed her hand until Hawke looked up and said with utter conviction, "you won't fuck it up. If you two honestly care for each other the way I think you do, then you'll find a way to make it work."

Hawke just stared at her, mouth soft and a little slack-jawed. Bethany smiled at her as she sunk back into the pillows, her eyelids slowly drooping.

"Anyone would be crazy not to love you," Bethany murmured as she started to drift off to sleep.

Ah fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.

Hawke dropped Bethany's hand to knuckle her eyes fiercely, cursing the dust or pollen or whatever it was that kept making her tear up that day.

\---

It was late in the evening by the time their guests started to trickle out to scrounge up dinner since Hawke didn't think they had anything more substantial than cake. Bethany's bottle of wine had been already been cracked open and split amongst their group, which consisted of several heavy drinkers even without Hawke in the equation. Varric was the last to leave and Hawke followed him out.

"Will I see you tomorrow?" Varric asked.

He looked out over the street before angling his head slightly in Hawke's direction. Neither mentioned the necklace he had given her. Knowing them, they probably wouldn't until they were old and grey - if they lived that long - and it came time for Hawke to pass it along to her own descendants.

"We still need to get those blasted maps from Anders. _If_ he hasn't disappeared with them by now."

"He hasn't," Varric said with so much certainty Hawke didn't even bother to question how he knew. "Meet you here first thing tomorrow and we can head down together?"

"Not too early, Varric,” she warned.

"Hawke, you did nothing but sleep the past two days."

Passing out wasn't the same as sleeping, but Hawke wasn't going to argue.

"You heard me, dwarf. Unless you show up with those little cinnamon and butter pastries from that Orlesian baker in Hightown then don't bother showing your mug around here until a decent fucking hour. Like noon."

"Don't blame me when those pastries go to your ass, Hawke."

"Like you wouldn't love that. Besides, I didn't even have any cake today."

"Check the upper right shelf in the kitchen over the sink. Daisy hid your piece in Gamlen's room on top of his bookshelf, but I figured I'd save you all the trouble of Snowflake destroying his entire room trying to get at it. Something tells me he's on his last strike with your uncle as it is."

"Good thinking," Hawke said. “Speak of the devil…”

Hawke smirked as the world's only blue mabari crept into view, obviously checking if the coast was clear. Snowflake gave a happy yelp when he saw them and raced up the stairs. Hawke had to grab onto Varric when Snowflake bumped them together with his enthusiastic circling before he scampered through the open front door. Varric’s hands landed on her waist but neither of them moved away when they were alone again.

"Why, hello," Hawke purred, grinning down at him as she twined her arms loosely around his neck. "We've got to stop meeting like this or the neighbors will start to talk."

Varric answering grin was equally mischievous. He let his hands slip down to curve over her backside and tugged her forward to bury his face between her breasts and kiss her chest without Hawke needing to bend over or find Varric a stool. The height difference was still a challenge at times, but not as nearly as big a one as she'd imagined. She moaned softly and sunk her fingers into his hair, not caring if she mussed it or lost his tie when he squeezed her ass and darted his tongue out to taste her.

"Marian? Are you out here?"

Hawke and Varric leapt away from each other like they'd been scalded. Hawke hastily made sure the lacings of her tunic were still intact when Leandra stuck her head out the door.

"Marian--Oh. I'm sorry, love. I didn't realize you were still out here with your friend. Will you be coming inside soon? There was a draft so I didn't want to leave the door open."

"I promise to have your daughter back inside before her curfew, Madame Hawke," Varric said so guilelessly that Hawke punched him in the shoulder.

"Marian, honestly!" Leandra scolded as Varric hissed and rubbed his shoulder. Hawke certainly hadn't been holding back. "Is that any way for a young lady to act?"

"If I see a lady other than you around here, Leandra, then I'll be sure to let you know," Varric joked. "Ow, Hawke. I need that arm!"

Leandra frowned, clearly not a fan of Varric's particular brand of humor or Hawke's penchant for violence.

"I'll be right there, Mother. No need to wait up."

Hawke tried to usher her back into the house before Leandra made any passive aggressive observations about Hawke's choice in friends. Hawke was only too glad she and Varric more or less agreed not to tell Leandra that they were much more than that.

"Very well. Varric, I wanted thank you putting together this party for Bethany on such short notice. Even though I wanted to put it off until she was feeling better, I think seeing everyone was the best remedy for her spirits. I'm sure she'd tell you so herself, but she - and I - appreciate what you've done for our family."

"Think nothing of it, Leandra. It was my pleasure."

Varric amped up the charm and addressed Leandra with so much honest sincerity and charisma that Hawke caught a flush of color rise to her mother's cheeks. She had to fight not to laugh or wrap a possessive arm around Varric's shoulders, but was glad that she wasn't the one he had that effect on.

"Night, Mother," Hawke urged.

Leandra raised her eyebrow at her in a way that suggested Hawke still needed to work on her manners. She left them alone after exchanging farewells with Varric and closed the door behind her.

"Hm. Sucking up to the family now, I see," Hawke teased.

Varric immediately picked up where they’d left off and wrapped his arms around her waist. He pulled her in close like they'd never been interrupted. "I have no idea what you mean, Hawke. Everyone's mother loves me."

Hawke burst into laughter.

"They do!" he protested.

He swatted her ass when she only laughed harder, but he finally gave up and pulled her into a kiss to shut her up instead. Hawke was still giggling against his lips for the kiss to be any good, but she felt his smile against hers and couldn’t imagine anything better. They kept the kiss brief but stood around for several minutes after just grinning at each other until Hawke shivered. Leandra was right; the night was starting to get chilly. Hawke happened to glance down and smothered a laugh. She was impressed that Varric had managed to refrain from commenting on the visible peaks of her nipples through her thin shirt, but if he did she’d never make it back inside.

That was the last time Hawke went around without her leathers. Or at least jacket. She considered burrowing into Varric’s duster with him rather than moving inside, which would be the more practical option.

"So, I guess I’ll see you tomorrow, lover boy," Hawke said. She reluctantly untangled herself from the much warmer dwarf who didn’t seem to feel the cold at all. He was like her own personal brazier and she was loathe to let go.

"First light, you said? I'll be here,” Varric said with a wink.

"Yeah, only if you want to be waiting outside all day."

"You're no fun, Hawke."

"That's not what you said when I had my mouth on your--"

"Wow. Yeah. Definitely time to go."

"Sweet dreams, Varric," Hawke trilled, wiggling her fingers at him as he tromped down the stairs.

He blew her a kiss when he reached the bottom and waved up at her. "If they're of you, then always, Hawke."

Varric gave a flourishing bow and was gone before Hawke could find something to throw at him. She huffed as she slapped at her hot cheeks, knowing they must be bright red.

Damn that dwarf and his need to always have the last word!

Hawke folded her arms against her chest and hurried inside. The living room and table had already been swept up and put back to rights. She’d even wager her brand new necklace that it had been Leandra’s doing. Hawke hadn't seen Gamlen pick up a broom once the entire time she'd known him, if he even knew what a broom was. She saw him frowning down at something on the writing desk and tried to scurry past before he tried to beg, bribe, or threaten her into “dealing with” one of his endless debtors.

Too late. He saw her and his frown deepened.

"I forgot to tell you earlier, but a package came for you," Gamlen said as he shoved a parcel no bigger than a shoebox wrapped in plain brown paper and twine at her.

Hawke took it uncertainly, still keeping one arm barred over her chest to preserve Gamlen from needing to burn his eyes out. "For me? Are you sure it's not one of Bethany's presents that might have gotten missed?"

"It says M. Hawke, doesn't it? And unless your father's managed to resurrect himself, it must be for you. I may not have been there when you were growing up, since your mother ran off to Ferelden, but even I can tell my nieces apart," Gamlen snapped.

Hawke knew this to be a blatant lie because he'd called both her and Bethany a combination of ‘Maribeth’ or ‘Bethann’ on several occasions. She didn't feel like arguing about it though and chose to ignore him as she inspected the box.

"I didn't open it, if that's what you're thinking."

“Well, I wasn’t thinking it until now. Don't you have anything better to do than go through my mail?" Hawke said, tapping on the torn edge of the brown paper.

"I-I didn't!" Gamlen protested, face going red, but he immediately became defensive. "I have every right to know what comes in and out of my own house! You're living here rent-free and taking advantage of my hospitality. Don't forget you all would still be fighting those other refugees outside the city for scraps if not for me, you ungrateful--"

"We," Hawke said dangerously, stalking forward until she was toe-to-toe with Gamlen, "are only in this Maker-forsaken shithole because you lost our family home to your damned gambling debts! Believe me, I'd rather not have anything to do with you if I had a choice, but for now we're both stuck with each other. So, I suggest you get out of my way before I decide your face offends me."

Hawke didn’t need her armor or kaddis or daggers to be intimidating. Gamlen went white as a sheet, spluttering out threats as he backed into his room before he shut and locked the door behind him.

"Maker preserve me," Hawke muttered under her breath.

Hawke started to pick apart the knotted twine once she was alone, figuring if the package contained a body part or was booby-trapped at least no one else would get caught in the crossfire. On second thought, she probably should have opened it while Gamlen had been standing there. Crinkled paper and twine drifted to the floor at Hawke’s feet and she held the box away from her as she tentatively prised open the lid.

The box wasn't rigged, but Hawke dropped it with a bitten off curse anyway when she looked inside, spilling its contents out onto the desk. The gauntlet she had left behind in the Chantry the night of the templars’ attack rolled across the pitted wood, off the edge, and onto the floor where her missing dagger wrapped in Bethany's neckerchief tumbled out.

Hawke gripped the edge of the desk and swore again.

Meredith must have discovered these items at the Chantry, which implicated Hawke and Bethany at the very least. Hawke was a fool to believe the situation had been dealt with so cleanly. Maker…would this nightmare never _end_? Or was she destined to pay for her mistakes one way or another?

Hawke nearly ran into the bedroom to grab Bethany and Leandra and bail out of town when a thought struck her: Why would Meredith return evidence when she was clearly frothing at the bit to catch Hawke doing anything suspicious or illegal? Like running around killing templars or harboring an apostate, for example.

If the package’s contents weren’t a threat, then who else would be invested in returning Hawke's property to her or arranging for perfect strangers to take the fall for her crimes? Someone must have had a contingency plan in the works for months until an occasion such as this arose where Hawke, Bethany, Aveline, Varric, and Snowflake had all been given a solid alibi. Who else would have risked discovery and the Gallows just to protect Hawke from her own stupidity? Or kept her from losing too much coin at Wicked Grace? Or dying of alcohol poisoning? Or saving face at her sister’s birthday party?

Hawke kicked the gauntlet away from her and let out an angry, wordless shout as she punched the wall. She didn't even care if she broke her fingers again. It would save her the trouble of strangling Varric with her own bare hands.

Hawke had been - and still was - prepared to sacrifice herself to protect those she loved; she hadn’t considered the fact that Varric would do the same, except with far more finesse and foresight. She curled her throbbing hand into a fist and stared at the faint smear of blood she left on the wall. She would make herself crazy trying to get anything out of Varric. She didn't want to put herself through the sort of mental torture knowing Varric was lying straight to her face if he denied that he’d been the sender, but neither did she want to bear the burden that was the truth.

There was one certainty she had to face, however; her relationship with Varric wouldn't survive without trust.

Was knowing the truth worth the risk of losing Varric? He might be a shady, conniving son of a whore, but he was _her_ shady, conniving son of a whore. Hawke knew that everything he had ever done or orchestrated since they met had only been for her benefit, whether it was morally reprehensible or not. She certainly couldn’t stand on a pedestal and preach about honesty and values when she thrived in the underbelly of Kirkwall, thrilled on skirting the edge of the law, and literally got away with murder. She didn't enjoy having to kill to make a living, but she wasn't going to be precious about it either.

She and Varric were equally fucked up, though in different ways. The real question was: Could she live with Varric's kind of fucked up and willingly chose to look the other way when he crossed the line? Could Hawke live with that kind of stain upon her soul, knowing her lover coldly sent three men to their deaths just to save her from templar scrutiny and would do so again without a second thought?

...Damn right she could.

Hawke would do the same for Bethany or Aveline or Fenris or, shit, even Gamlen, so why wouldn't she give Varric the same benefit of a doubt? In the end, she trusted him which meant trusting that Varric had a handle on things and knew what the fuck he was doing because Hawke sure didn’t.

Hawke gathered up the scrap of red cloth, the dagger, and the gauntlet. The accessory, the weapon, and the armor...if one wanted to get romantic about it. Hawke sure as fuck didn't. She'd leave the symbolism up to the expert. She dumped the items back into the box they’d arrived in and dusted off her hands after shutting the lid. They’d mean nothing to anyone else who snooped around, only that she’d been too lazy to put her things away. She'd drive herself insane if she continued to stew over the problem, so she decided to do what Hawkes and Amells did best.

...Which was deflect and deny until they were fucking blue in the face, and damn whatever anyone else said.

Hawke whistled to herself as she went into the kitchen and found the piece of cake waiting for her exactly where Varric said she would. She strolled back into the living room with the plate in one hand and a fork in the other. She wasn’t thinking of anything other then getting the delicious blue confectionary into her belly by any means necessary when she was suddenly tackled by a full grown mabari.

"Snowflake! No! Bad dog!" Hawke yelled when she slammed into the ground.

Snowflake snatched the cake - and nearly her hand - away. He gobbled down the entire slice in one gulp before Hawke could stop him, licked her face, and then ran for it.

Hawke groaned as she pushed herself to her feet and then gave chase. Snowflake barked excitedly, slipping through her hands when she pounced. He made a break for the front door, which Hawke had to quickly open before he broke it down. She’d established that she wasn’t a carpenter, if the three-legged table was any indication, and the house was already drafty enough.

She shut the door behind her before taking off on an impromptu run throughout Lowtown and the docks with Snowflake. She gave up on trying to catch him and enjoyed running for the sake of running, rather than toward a fight or away from disaster. The fur around Snowflake's muzzle was probably permanently stained from whatever Aveline had used to dye the cake frosting, but blue was a far more preferable color than red and seemed to suit him just fine.

Freedom, Hawke thought, was a good color on anyone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> End Note: I imagine Varric kissing Hawke a little like this: [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=_QOlEO-lrbk)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I think my fight scenes might be even more graphic than my sex scenes, which is saying a lot. XD Also, there is a heavy use of in-game dialogue in this chapter, so be prepared.

Running through Lowtown at night without her armor or daggers was perhaps not the best idea Hawke had ever had, but Snowflake kept close to her side and they both bared their teeth in warning when anyone's gaze lingered too long.

Their route took them not too far from the Hanged Man, which Hawke didn't even pretend was a coincidence. She was considering dropping in on Varric, despite the fact they'd just seen each other, when voices caught her attention. Unable to resist snooping, Hawke signaled to Snowflake to hunker down and remain quiet as she crept closer. Hawke listened in as she saw a Chantry sister, of all people, speaking with a man who had 'hired muscle' and 'thug' written all over him, as did the four men that fanned out around the pair.

"Here, Miss. Word is, you're looking for help and paying well," the man in charge said in a friendly tone. Hawke knew the only help a guy like that could offer was to separate easy targets from their coin purse, but she stayed low and out of sight.

"I need someone native to the dark places beneath Lowtown. If you claim as much, yes, I will pay," the sister said, nodding.

"I am, I am. Let's just step into this alley and me and my fellows can have a look at the money on offer."

"No one's dumb enough to fall for that," Hawke muttered.

"Very well."

"...Apparently, someone  _can_  be that dumb," Hawke groaned. She stood and cracked her knuckles, rolling her head on her neck until it popped satisfyingly as well. "And apparently so can I. What do you say, Snowflake?"

Snowflake barked an affirmative, eyes fixed on the fellow leading the Chantry sister away.

"Hey! Who's there?" one of the other men called and Hawke bared her teeth in a grin as she stepped out of the shadows.

"Just someone looking for a dance partner," Hawke called back, spreading her arms wide with a curtsey.

"I'm afraid you picked the wrong place, sister. Boys. Break her legs."

"Now, that's just rude," Hawke tsked, crossing her arms over her chest as she smirked at the approaching men. Snowflake growled low and threatening, hackles raised as he stalked forward from behind her. His fangs gave several of the men pause. "Guess it's just me and you, boy. Let's dance."

She had the initial shock factor on her side because nobody in their right mind expected a half-dressed woman and her dog to put up any sort of a fight. Hawke quickly rectified their assumptions by punching the first man who reached them so hard in the face that he staggered back. When Snowflake tackled him and sunk his teeth into his throat, the men shouted and grabbed their weapons to retaliate. Hawke was more than ready to work out her lingering aggression on hapless ne'er-do-wells, punching and grappling to her heart's content. She was faster without her armor, ducking and weaving with ease. Then one man got in a lucky shot to her kidneys, dropping Hawke onto a knee. Snowflake used her back as a launching pad and barreled into the thug who'd hit her. Hawke slipped the knife out of her boot and ducked a swinging fist as she lashed out and hamstrung one of her attackers.

The fight was touch and go for a while until Hawke stuck her knife into another man's jugular and relieved him of his crude daggers, which evened out the playing field quite a bit after that. The men were little more than basic cutpurses with only the barebones type of allegiance to their ringleader. They all but left him for dead when he faced down Hawke and her new daggers and lost very, very badly. The rest scattered when they realized their easy target was far more trouble than she was worth.

Hawke booted one in the ass as he scampered past nursing a mangled arm. She cupped her hands around her mouth, calling after them, "Make better choices!"

Hawke gripped her side and leaned against a wall to catch her breath after all the men had either caught a case of dead, or ran. She swiped an arm beneath her nose when she felt a wet tickle on her upper lip, unsurprised when her sleeve came away crimson. Snowflake pranced over to her with his muzzle a dark brownish purple, but he didn't seem to be favoring any injuries. He was far better at dodging than she was.

"Well, thank you for your timely intervention," the woman in the Chantry robes said as she approached Hawke, entirely unshaken despite the fact she'd nearly been robbed or worse. "I am...out of my element."

"That was a pretty fucking stupid thing to do. On both our parts."

"I had to come here to get the type of person I need. Someone of bloody skill, but also integrity. Perhaps the kind who might leap to someone's defense."

Hawke glanced around in feigned bewilderment and pretended to be shocked when the woman's unblinking gaze remained fixed on her. "You mean me? Well, you got the bloody part right, at least."

"I have a charge who needs passage from the city. If you are willing and capable, meet me at my safehouse nearby."

"You want to tell me who you are first, lady? I like to know the names of the people I jump into bed with, even if you didn't offer to take me out for dinner."

Hawke had to give the woman credit. She didn't blush even a little at Hawke's ribald humor.

"I will tell you all you need to know at the safehouse. I hope you will come. This matter only grows more urgent with time."

"I hope you don't mind if I bring a few friends along," Hawke said.

They were close enough to the Hanged Man that it wouldn't take long to wrangle up Varric and Isabela. Even she knew better than to go rushing off with strangers without backup. Or at least she did in theory. Practice, on the other hand, could use a little work.

"Bring whomever you wish. You must need coin. Everyone here does. I seek to end this quickly and promise to make it worth your while."

"Very well. Give me half an hour."

The woman handed her a scrap of parchment with an address written on it and left. Hawke pocketed the note before she and Snowflake changed direction and headed toward the Hanged Man. Hawke stopped outside and checked her reflection in the tavern's grungy window. She wincingly prodded at the bridge of her nose - bruised, not broken - and the tender swelling around her eye. She really wished they wouldn't go for the face, though the protesting ache in her ribs and lower back proved they hadn't been shy about other parts of her body either.

She spat on the end of her sleeve and rubbed as much blood off her face as she could, but there'd be no fooling anyone that she'd just come from a fight. Hawke went inside and lifted her hand to Corff, who never seemed to sleep or leave the bar, ever. Snowflake bumped Hawke's hip with his forehead before trotting over set his front paws up on the bar so he could get ear ruffles from Corff. He didn't seem to mind or notice the blood and dirt all over him, which said a worrying amount for the cleanliness of the bar.

Hawke went upstairs and raised her fist to knock on Varric's door, but it swung open before she could make contact. Varric's teasing grin and whatever smartass remark he was going to make faltered when he caught sight of her face. Before he could ask, Hawke rapped her knuckles against his forehead and beat him to the draw.

"I got a job for us."

"Andraste's dimpled buttcheeks, Hawke. I leave you for  _five minutes_..."

"Yeah, yeah. You coming or not?"

"Fuck. All right, just let me grab Bianca."

"Great. You do that and I'll see if Isabela wants to come out and play, too."

"Wait a second," he said. "Before we go, are you sure you don't want to put on something a little more...  _more_?"

Hawke glanced down. Her shirt was filthy and torn in several places, barely held together by the precariously laced ties in front. Perhaps her luck in the fight had less to do with skill and more to do with the fact that Hawke had essentially been flashing everyone. Isabela had been insistent on this particular tactic for ages. If Hawke happened to lose her pants, too, then she'd be unstoppable.

"I think you forget I grew up in Ferelden, Varric. The winters here are like late spring back home."

"Ah, so you mean it's practically balmy for you then. Funny...  _these_  are telling me a different story," Varric said and reached out to tweak her nipples.

"Hey!" Hawke yelped. She slapped his hands away and crossed her arms over her chest defensively. She could feel her cheeks heat up as Varric mirrored her pose with a smirk and raised his eyebrows a fraction, daring her to refute blatant evidence.

"Don't pretend you didn't enjoy that, Hawke," Isabela said as she approached with her daggers already strapped across her back. Hawke kept forgetting how thin the walls were. Isabela slung an arm over Hawke's shoulders and feigned a concerned look down at her own cleavage. "Varric, I think you should check to see what mine tell you. I thought I felt a chill in the air earlier, but I can't be certain..."

"Rivaini, I gave up on trying to get you to wear actual clothes ages ago. You're on your own."

Hawke rolled her eyes at them and made a shooing gesture toward the stairs. "We're on a short time limit here. Varric, if you have an extra coat on hand I'll take it. Otherwise me, Snowflake,  _and_  my nipples will wait for you two downstairs."

"Give me a minute and I'll be right there," Varric said.

"You have thirty seconds, dwarf. Get hustling."

Isabela linked her arm with Hawke's and escorted her into the tavern. Hawke stroked a hand down Snowflake's back when he trotted over with a clean muzzle and a suspiciously round belly. Corff or Norah's doing, no doubt. They spoiled that dog rotten and kept sneaking him scraps even when Hawke complained they were going to make him fat and lazy.

There was a basket of bread rolls on one of the tables they passed by and Hawke reached out to snag one when the two men sitting there became distracted by Isabela's lack of pants. Hawke, they didn't spare a second glance, which allowed her to steal two more rolls.

She tossed one to Snowflake - who inhaled his without even chewing - and the other she shoved down her shirt for later. She casually bit into the pilfered bread and hummed when Snowflake licked his chops and gave her starving puppy eyes even though his belly flopped over his hind paws when he sat. She couldn't remember the last time she'd actually eaten something and kept it down. She was so hungry that even the smells from the kitchen that mingled with the odor of unwashed bodies and spilled ale was starting to smell good to her. She finished the roll nearly as fast as Snowflake had and contemplated starting in on the second.

"If you're going to steal rolls, then I suggest grabbing two so you're not lopsided, sweet thing. Just a little tip, girl to girl." Isabela grabbed handfuls of her own very substantial breasts to demonstrate.

Hawke glowered at her, fully aware of her own tiny molehills in comparison. She snatched up another customer's tankard and drained it in one go while the man gawped at Isabela's breasts, which she had yet to release.

"I hope you're not getting into trouble without me," Varric said, huffing a little as he half-jogged toward them. He held out an armful of leather for Hawke, which she took and tugged on without bothering to check the merchandise first.

The coat was warm and well-worn and smelled like Varric, which was a winner in Hawke's book despite the poor fit. The sleeves ended halfway down Hawke's forearms and the tailcoats barely covered her ass whereas they came down to the back of Varric's knees on him. She preferred her clothing and armor fitted so it didn't catch and so she wouldn't be easy to grab. Hawke buttoned up the front, but the coat still hung loosely around her waist and shoulders. She wouldn't be doing much fighting in it anytime soon, though she was at least warm for the time being.

A quick check of the pockets revealed two of Varric's tar bombs, a combustion grenade, scraps of parchment, a copper bit, a throwing knife, a spare button, and pocket lint. Hawke kept the knife and bombs and, with a mental groan, the copper bit too since it was more than she currently had to her name.

Andraste's holy knickers, how was she  _this_  broke all the time? Hawke would have almost believed herself to be a magician considering the rate she made alcohol and coin disappear.

"So, where are you taking us this time?" Varric asked as he took the odds and ends Hawke had discarded and stuffed them into his own pockets.

"To the slums," Hawke said with a shrug. "Home sweet home."

"There's no need to impress me, Hawke. I'm a simple man with simple tastes."

"I believe he just called you simple, Hawke," Isabela said in a stage whisper meant to carry.

"Hawke? Simple? Ha!"

"I rescind my earlier statement. Apparently, you're difficult and high-maintenance."

"Hey, what happened to my ale?" the man at the table behind them suddenly exclaimed, peering into his empty tankard.

"Oy, someone took me bread!"

"Snowflake, how could you!" Hawke scolded, grabbing his collar as she hustled them quickly toward the door while trying not to laugh at Snowflake's betrayed whine. "You know Corff doesn't like you in here."

That was a blatant lie. Corff kept a bowl of water and spare meat bones behind the counter specifically for Snowflake. In return, Snowflake helped keep the Hanged Man free from rats and growled at people who tried to leave without paying first. Corff would throw out Hawke before he threw out Snowflake, but for whatever reason he seemed to like them both.

Hawke pulled Varric's coat tight around her as their group left the building. It was much colder when she wasn't running around or fueled by adrenaline from a fight. The woman's hideout was located near Gamlen's place, so Hawke made a quick detour to trade Varric's coat for her armor and daggers, though she made certain to bring his grenades and throwing knife with her. When Hawke entered the safehouse, she was greeted by a templar with his sword drawn. Perhaps the woman wasn't so thoughtless or helpless as she'd appeared attempting to make deals with thugs in Lowtown.

"I am expected," Hawke said, raising her eyebrow at his ready stance. The woman signaled to the templar to lower his guard.

"I thank you for coming. This matter is delicate and I need someone of...limited notoriety who will not link this to me. It is an escort, but I think you'll agree the nature of the party makes this unique."

"If this is criminal, then I already have enough trouble," Hawke said.

"I should think you're about to have more. I am Sister Petrice. This is my burden of charity."

"Oh boy," Isabela exhaled as an enormous - though, weren't they all enormous? - Qunari appeared.

He was silent despite his size. Thick links of chain hung from the collar around his neck and there were also cuffs around his wrists like he'd been shackled recently. His face was obscured by a mask that had red stains beneath the eye holes like tears, or blood, had rusted the metal, and someone had cruelly cut his horns off. Hawke didn't know the extent of what had been done to him, but it looked bad.

"Would even a templar bind a mage like this?" Petrice asked as she walked over to the Qunari, entirely without fear, and peered up at him. "A survivor of infighting with their Tal-Vashoth outcasts. I call him 'Ketojan,' a bridge between worlds. This mage would likely be returned to his brutal kin. He can serve a better purpose. I want him free. He must be guided from the city without alerting his people, or being seen in my care."

"I've had dealings with the Qunari leader," Hawke said, eyeing Ketojan warily. "He'd want to know of this."

Not only was Ketojan a Qunari, but a mage, too, which made him doubly dangerous. It wasn't enough that he could snap Hawke like a twig, but could probably set her on fire like one as well.

"You...have dealt with their leader?" Petrice turned her back on Ketojan, which Hawke wouldn't have recommended to anyone, and faced her. "If you have interacted with Qunari, you know how they treat those who leave their heathen order. The Arishok would doom this poor creature. Helping this mage shows how Qunari heresy cannot be ignored. His flight is vital."

"Is freedom so helpful? A new life with that collar seems doubtful," Hawke said.

"We do what we can to step toward what is right. That must be enough. Qunari or not, I can only assume he wants to be led to freedom."

"And if you're wrong, I have to deal with it."

"That is why I went to Lowtown. You are either capable of the discretion and skill that I need or you are not."

"Are you sure about this, Hawke? You remember what happened the last time you tried to help a mage escape, right?" Varric said warily.

The last thing Hawke wanted to do was involve herself with Chantry business or potentially exacerbate conflict with the Qunari, but a job was a job and she couldn't afford to turn it down. She was officially broke after spending the last of her coin on hangover tonic. At least she'd left Bethany at home this time.

"I can get him out of Kirkwall," Hawke said, dismissing Varric's warning. "He's a bit conspicuous for the streets, though."

"I hope you know what you're doing," Varric muttered, scuffing the toe of his boot against the floor as he frowned.

"Do I ever?" Hawke grinned, elbowing him until he looked up with a put-upon sigh.

"This mage will be a fine example of how cruel Qunari are, even to their own. But only if this plays out just so. The passage here leads to the warrens of the Undercity. It is dangerous, but that is why you were hired. Good luck," Petrice said.

They would need a lot more than luck to transport a Qunari out of Kirkwall without detection, but luck was all they had so Hawke would just have to deal.

Snowflake took the lead with Isabela through the passage while Varric and Hawke hung back to keep an eye on Ketojan, who followed along as docile as could be. He didn't speak, only made indecipherable grumblings as Varric bombarded him with question after question for however many hours before finally giving up.

However, that didn't mean he stopped talking.

Varric happily regaled their new friend with a story about the time Hawke had bought Qunari vitaar in the Lowtown bazaar, mistakenly believing the red body paint to be kaddis, which mabari and their handlers used to track each other in battle. Thankfully, the paint had been a knock-off version a merchant had been experimenting with in order to sell to the Qunari; therefore, not nearly as poisonous as authentic vitaar.

Still, Hawke's eyelids and sinus passages had swollen shut immediately after she applied it across the bridge of her nose, as usual. She panicked, unable to see or breathe as her throat threatened to close as well. Bethany had managed to keep Hawke from suffocating with a sustained healing spell before dragging her outside. Hawke spent at least an hour on her back in the mud while Bethany frantically pumped water over her. Hawke scrubbed her face raw until she could breathe again. Well, aside from practically drowning beneath the pump.

Merrill had stopped by for some reason that was promptly forgotten at the sight of Hawke, drenched and shivering and covered with mud. Hawke hadn't been able to see much at the time and could only make out the vague green outline of Merrill's outfit and the tips of her ears when she squinted. Merrill had squeaked something out and disappeared without getting whatever it was she'd come for.

Needless to say, gossip traveled faster than a sexually transmitted disease in their group. Hawke was now very cautious about what she put on her face after all the needling she'd gotten for that stunt, which still haunted her to this very day.

Hawke had no idea how long they'd been walking, or how many unflattering stories Varric told Ketojan about his traveling companions, but the passage went on for ages without an end in sight. She wished someone had thought to bring their travel pack. None of them had brought bedrolls, waterskins, or rations, which was poor planning on her part.

It seemed inevitable that they'd encounter less savory types in the Undercity; particularly when Hawke was short-tempered from hunger and exhaustion and had no patience for bullshit. Even more inevitable were the comments from the men who approached them. And of course they would have an opinion regarding the chained Qunari who was tagging along with their group.

"Look at this," a man with a terrible mustache said as he and his goons stepped out of the shadows and blocked their path. "Undercity's feared by all, but there's no shortage of fools with coin who want to test it."

He tilted his head toward Ketojan after his little intro. "What is this thing, collared like a dog lord's bitch?"

Snowflake growled and circled around to stand next to Hawke with his hackles raised.

"Not you, baby," Hawke soothed, patting his head. "The guy with the bad facial hair was referring to our new friend here, I believe."

"You some sort of Qunari lover?" Mustache goaded. "Maybe I should get rid of you and see who'll pay the most for your pet."

A second growl came from her other side. Hawke started when she realized the sound had come from Ketojan. Huh. Maybe he did understand their language then. A ginger-haired man next to Mustache spoke up with a nervous look at Ketojan.

"Uh, I don't think it likes you threatening its master. Maybe we let this one pass."

"A voice of reason. What's he doing with you?" Hawke asked Ginger when Mustache ignored his friend and stepped right up to Ketojan and Hawke.

Ginger didn't have anything to say to that, but Mustache certainly did.

"You lot think you're so damned right, buying everything, running Free Marchers like me into our own sewers." Mustache pulled a knife out and sneered. "You want us bound, like this thing. I'll see you dead first."

Mustache took a swipe at Hawke, but before he could make contact an explosion of invisible force burst from Ketojan, knocking all and sundry onto their collective asses - including Hawke herself.

"By the Void!" Ginger exclaimed, spitting saliva and grit as he pushed himself up, "Kill it! Kill them all!"

Perhaps he wasn't so smart after all.

Ketojan stood frozen, energy pouring off him in waves, but Hawke wasn't about to wait for a second blast to catch her. She rolled to her feet with her daggers out before she rushed forward to help Mustache trim those terrible lip pubes for him. The others in her group exploded into action. A bolt caught one of the thugs in the chest as he was standing up the instant before Snowflake lunged and knocked him back down. Isabela flipped right over the pair and cut down a second man before disappearing and reappearing behind another.

Even without Ketojan's interference, the fight was over almost before it had begun. Few who went up against Hawke and her friends ever lasted very long. Most of the people dumb enough to fight them were scrappers and brawlers, out for themselves rather than bothering to work as a team.

Hawke felt heat on her back when she and Snowflake downed the last man together and turned to find Ketojan wreathed in a circle of fire of his own making.

"The danger has passed, Ketojan!" Hawke yelled, approaching the flames with a hand cautiously raised. "Calm yourself!"

Ketojan growled and like a coal being doused the fire abruptly disappeared, leaving Hawke blinking back spots.

"Just remember I'm a friend here, not a marshmallow on a stick," Hawke warned.

That didn't get any reaction except for another growl. Varric and Snowflake crowded protectively at her sides while Isabela stayed back, fingering the hilt of her dagger without taking her eyes off Ketojan.

"You can't gesture or stomp your feet twice for yes or something?" Hawke tried, tapping her own foot twice to demonstrate.

Another growl.

"I bet all he wants is to go chasing after thrown sticks. And someone to rub his belly," Isabela suggested.

Snowflake perked up and obediently rolled over onto his back, looking up hopefully at Hawke with his tongue lolling out of his mouth.

"That's just pitiful," Hawke said, propping her fists on her hips as she nudged Snowflake's side with the toe of her boot. "You're going to let a leashed Qunari show you up? I thought better of you, Snow."

Snowflake whined and wiggle-scooted closer to Hawke until she finally gave in and vigorously scratched his belly. After a few minutes of indulging her happily blissed-out dog, she glared at Ketojan and pointed a finger at him sternly. "No belly rubs for you unless you control those nasty outbursts of yours. Understood?"

Even that didn't get more than a growl, so Hawke gave up trying to get anything intelligible out of him. Hawke gave Snowflake's round belly a few firm pats before standing back up, stretching her arms over her head with a quiet groan. Her internal clock was all messed up from the erratic amounts of sleep, or passing out, she'd done the past few days, but she was  _beat_. The adrenaline rush was fading and she didn't how long she could go before she fell asleep on her feet.

"Any idea how much farther this passage goes?" Hawke asked, to a resounding echo of "nopes," grunts, and growls. "Well, all right. I don't know about any of you, but I'm ready to crash."

"Something tells me this isn't the kind of place you want to close your eyes, Hawke," Varric said, holstering Bianca after having retrieved his bolts, which had all found their marks.

"So we'll take shifts. I can't expect to keep an eye on Ketojan if I can't even keep my eyes open, Varric."

Hawke managed to convince them to make camp in the Undercity, though to hear Varric tell things she had stomped her foot like a toddler and threw a tantrum, refusing to budge from her spot. They compromised and found an abandoned but easily secured room that had been used as a storage facility many years ago, judging by the empty barrels and crates filling the room's outer parameters.

They took shifts with Varric and Snowflake on the first watch while also keeping an eye on Ketojan. Isabela gleefully spooned up behind her on the ground and taunted Varric with a salacious play-by-play of what exactly she was getting up to with Hawke there in the dark, even though her hand never moved from where it was tucked around Hawke's ribs.

Hawke didn't know how long she'd slept for, but she was still groggy by the time Snowflake nosed her awake so they could switch places. Ketojan stood outside the doorway like a statue, face forward and arms loose at his sides.

"He sleep at all?" Hawke asked Varric, who looked stubbly and bleary-eyed himself.

"Nope. Not much for conversation either. Maybe you'll have better luck."

Hawke did not have better luck.

Even her and Isabela's candid back and forth banter didn't get a reaction out of him, which was no fun and made the night drag until Varric and Snowflake appeared, looking a little more rested. The group picked up and continued down the passageway. They encountered a few more pockets of brigands along the way, but word must have traveled after the first attack and most of them kept their distance. After what felt like an eternity of walking, the passage gave way to a stone tunnel that was nearly a vertical incline.

Varric huffed and bitched the entire way up.

Hawke heard the sound of the sea and smelled salt on the faint breeze that whistled through the tunnel as they approached the end of their journey. She blinked into the sunlight after they exited the cave and spilled out onto the Wounded Coast, which wasn't where she'd been expecting the passage to lead them. She assumed they'd be headed for the docks so they could get Ketojan smuggled onto a boat leaving out of Kirkwall, but she supposed the coast was less conspicuous.

From where she stood at the top of a hill, she could see a group of armed Qunari down the pass. They had a fire going and appeared to have made camp. Most of them were milling about talking or sitting alone while sharpening their weapons. They were also directly in their path.

"You expecting friends?" Hawke asked Ketojan, who was as blank and silent as ever. "For all our sake, I hope they're friendly friends."

She couldn't tell whether or not the Qunari down there were actually rebel Tal-Vashoth, who were known to inhabit the Wounded Coast. They all looked the same to her, so she was forever mixing up the two groups. One followed the Qun and the others were deserters. It would just be her luck and she'd gravely offend one faction or the other by calling them the wrong name. Whoever they were, the big grey men approached unhurriedly rather than rushing toward them with roaring battle cries, which was a good start.

One of the Qunari stepped forward and spoke out in a sharp, commanding tone. "You will hold,  _basra vashedan_. I am Arvaarad, and I claim possession of Saarebas at your heel."

"There's no need for name calling," Hawke said lightly, holding up both hands. "We...er...come in peace?"

"The members of his karataam were killed by Tal-Vashoth, but their disposal leads only here, to Saarebas and you."

Ah, so they were Qunari after all. Good thing Hawke had kept her mouth shut then. But whoever they were, they thought Hawke and Ketojan had something to do with the deaths of Ketojan's group, which wasn't so good.

"I just got here, coming from the other way. If there was a trail, I didn't leave it," Hawke protested.

"Yet you are here with Saarebas. The crime is his freedom, his leash held by unknowing  _basra_."

"What leash? I see no leash."

Hawke waved her empty hands and lifted them higher just in case Aardvark, or whatever his name was, couldn't see them from his greater height.

"We will not allow that danger to continue," Aardvark continued as if Hawke hadn't spoken. Which, rude. "Let your own mages doom you - Saarebas will be properly confined."

Chained and leashed again, he meant. Hawke could read between the lines.

"And if he doesn't want to go back?"

Varric groaned quietly behind her. "You can't afford a new pet, Hawke. He probably eats more than Snowflake."

Aardvark stalked forward and barked a command to Ketojan. "Saarebas! Show that your will remains bound to the Qun."

Ketojan growled, either in aggression or acquiesce. Hawke couldn't tell which it was until he knelt without hesitation and bowed his head. Shit. Aardvark turned to Hawke and she met his stare with a clenching of her jaw and fists.

"He has only followed you because he wants to be led. He is allowed no other purpose," he said.

"I hope you at least gave him a chance to negotiate your kinks first," Hawke spat irritably. Isabela snorted out a laugh. "The sister called him 'Ketojan.' You are Saarebas?" Hawke asked the man kneeling next to her.

"Saarebas is his role and his name, as you understand it," Aardvark said, answering for him. "It is the accusation and acknowledgment of being a mage."

"So you're Aardvark? And you do what, exactly? Eat ants?"

"That's an anteater, Hawke," Varric said through the hand he slapped over his face. "At least  _try_  not to piss off the very large group of Qunari who already don't like us."

"My role is to hold the leash and hunt the grey ones who leave the Qun." Aardvark seemed to loom over Hawke even though he didn't step any closer. His voice lowered in a menacing growl. "Or  _bas_  who have not yet been enlightened."

"He is bound and abused, and you want him caged. Why?" Hawke demanded, refusing to back down.

"Shut up, shut up, shut up," Varric chanted through clenched teeth.

He should know better than to expect Hawke to hold her tongue when directly challenged. She wasn't a martyr, but not even she could stand by and do nothing while a mage - a  _person_  – was being treated as badly as Ketojan had been. It was like expecting her to pat Fenris on the back and suggest he talk things out with Danarius over a nice cup of tea, as slavery and torture surely couldn't have been  _that_  bad.

"The power that he had, that all Saarebas have, draws from the chaos and demons. They can never be in control."

"So you fear them," Hawke said, digging to get to the root of the real issue.

Honestly, she had expected better of Qunari. But this...leashing and mutilating and brainwashing their mages was so much worse than anything even Meredith had attempted. Worse yet, this practice seemed standard for all mages under the Qun.

"We leash Saarebas because they are dangerous and contagious. Not even your templars fully grasp that threat."

"I'm not giving him to you. He'll choose his own path."

"He wants what the Qun demands. He is nothing else."

"Here we go," Varric sighed, reaching for Bianca as Aardvark whipped out something that looked like a golden scepter. Hawke doubted it was anything so unassuming.

"You,  _basra_  - your kind have no sense. The opportunity for reason will be forced upon you."

A light gathered at the tip of the scepter. Before Hawke could reach for her own weapons, Aardvark pointed the scepter at Ketojan, forcing him to his hands and knees as he glowed all over with a bright blue light similar to Anders' little possession trick.

"You will all be brought to the Qun!"

Suddenly there were Qunari everywhere, charging down the passes on all sides to block them in.

"Shit," Hawke swore - an understatement if there ever was one.

"That's it, Hawke. You can just sleep on the floor from now on. I'll let Snowflake have the bed," Varric called out as he shot a hail of arrows out over the thickest grouping of Qunari before they could split apart and become more dangerous one-on-one.

"I wouldn't recommend it." Hawke's hand knocked against one of Varric's tar bombs in her pouch and she threw it at the group Varric's arrows had hit, slowing them down further. "He's gassy in his sleep."

"You can't blame Snowflake if he wasn't even in the room at the time, Hawke."

"Shut up and light them on fire, Varric!" Hawke yelled, ducking a Qunari's pike and coming up laughing as she stabbed him in the ribs.

"What, the farts?" Varric teased, but he obediently loaded one of his exploding arrows and shot it at the puddle of dark goop that had splashed on the ground and on several of their opponents, lighting both the tar and the Qunari on fire.

The Qunari were relentless, though, and Hawke wondered if they even felt the flames. They kept coming and coming, more dangerous than when they  _weren't_  on fire. Hawke had to keep dancing back out of reach to avoid getting burned as well.

Hawke quickly lost sight of Snowflake and Isabela. She and Varric were blocked in with a wall of Qunari between them, but she could hear Snowflake's barks and snarls so she knew he was still fighting. The Qunari fought like the men in Lowtown and the Undercity didn't; in formations, as a team, and as individual guerrilla fighters attempting to pick them off from behind while they were engaged in front.

Hawke automatically put her back to Varric's and tossed another tar bomb behind her without looking, praying that she didn't hit Snowflake or Isabela. The twang of Varric's crossbow and the resulting explosion told her all she needed to know since he wouldn't have shot one of those off if anyone in their group was in danger of getting caught in the crossfire. Hawke quickly traded the bombs for her daggers since her blades were better suited for close combat. Varric was more effective as a ranged fighter, but Hawke doubted she'd be able to pry him away with a crowbar.

Varric changed tactics and aimed at the Qunari's feet, pinning them to the sand by a bolt through their boots. Hawke darted in and slashed open-mouthed grins beneath their unsmiling mouths that gushed crimson down their chests, obscuring their meticulously applied vitaar. No matter how many they picked off, though, it seemed like more kept coming.

"We need to get back to the others!" Hawke called, automatically ducking a wide sweep of a Qunari's blade.

For a gut-wrenching instant, she forgot Varric was standing directly behind her. She spun around with a cry, fearing that he'd just been decapitated. She breathed out a grateful sigh when she saw his head was still attached and silently thanked the Maker he was a dwarf. The blade had swung over his head and likely missed him by no more than a hair.

"Behind you!" Varric yelled, wrapping one arm around Hawke's waist and tugging her to the side as he aimed Bianca behind her with his other hand and pulled the trigger.

Hawke heard the dull thump of a body hitting the sand and jumped as a sword cut the air an inch from where she'd been standing. She twisted her head to look, but Varric swung her out again like some fucked up version of a waltz. Hawke didn't think, only acted on instinct as she struck out with her dagger and felt the vibration travel up her arm as her blade sunk deep into flesh and glanced off bone.

Hawke pulled her hand back with a wet  _thwock_  and stabbed her dagger in again before Varric spun her into the path of another charging Qunari. Hawke laughed in delight even as she stabbed the man in his achingly defined abdomen, which she could admit was a bit macabre.

"Take me out dancing another time, dwarf. We've got us a fight to win."

"Did someone say dancing?" Isabela called as she slipped in through a gap and joined their little group. "I hope it's the horizontal kind."

"Is there any other?" Varric grinned, happy to see her. "Don't tell me you lost Hawke's dog out there."

"He was fine a second ago. Sampling a new variety of suspiciously grey jerky, the last I saw."

"I really need to teach him to stop eating people," Hawke groaned as she parried an attack. "He's getting fat."

She teamed up with Isabela to take out another Qunari who was at least twice as tall as Varric. She went high as Isabela went low, and together they brought him down while Varric cleanly finished him off with a bolt between the eyes.

"That was my last one," he said, using Bianca to block before aiming a shattering kick to a Qunari's knee. "Got any more of those bombs on you, Hawke?"

"One left. Make it count," she said, tossing it over to him.

He nearly fumbled and dropped the damn thing, which would have more than likely blown them all up. He shot her a dirty look, grenade clutched carefully in hand, and hollered, "Clear me a path! I need to get higher up."

"Got it! Stay close."

Hawke and Isabela redoubled their attacks and aimed for groins, jugulars, and eyes, not bothering to play nice when they were this badly outnumbered. Varric stayed close and kept a few of their opponents' attacks from landing while he tried to find his opening. Finally, he spotted one between two Qunari; one held a bastardized hybrid of an axe and a hammer and the other had a sword that was longer than Hawke. Varric charged at the one with the sword since he wouldn't be able to swing it without hitting one of his brethren, and ducked into a roll that carried him between the swordsman's legs.

Hawke nearly got a face full of hammer for pausing a second too long to make Varric made it through, but quickly leaned away as the blade passed pants-wettingly close to her face. Hawke dropped onto her back and pulled a knee in close to her chest before driving upward with her heel as hard as she could between the Qunari's legs. They only wore leather pants with no codpiece or any other armor to speak of, so she wasn't surprised when the Qunari dropped his axe and doubled over. Even though Qunari were often the fodder for many of Hawke's most debauched fantasies – the ones not featuring a certain dwarf - she could only grimace out a silent apology.

Isabela was there in an instant and lopped off the Qunari's head in a feat Hawke had yet to manage with her own daggers. She let out a yell as a head full of horns and white hair dropped onto her belly.

"Damn you, Isabela!" Hawke shrieked, tossing the head away from her as she rolled backward out of the spray of blood gushing from the gaping stump of the Qunari's neck. So much for fantasies, Hawke despaired, coming up onto her feet spitting blood and sand and curses.

"Is that how you thank someone who saved your life?" Isabela called back, even though Hawke couldn't see her.

"Next time, don't bother!"

Hawke brought her dagger up to deflect a blow from yet another sword, but her hand was so slick with blood that she lost her grip and the Qunari managed to slice her left arm from bicep to inner forearm.

"Mother _fucker_!" Hawke yelled and kneed him in the balls out of petty revenge. This one didn't go down as easily as the other one had, but there was only so much she could do with one arm out of commission.

"I take it back, Bela! Get your ass back here!"

"Hawke! Down!" Varric shouted from a hill overlooking the area.

Hawke dropped faster than Ketojan had when Anteater had waved his magic wand. She laced her hands together behind her head and planted her face right in a muddy, bloody puddle when an explosion rocked overhead, sending a wave of heat and sand spraying over her back.

"Clear!"

Hawke poked her head up cautiously and jerked away when a wet tongue licked a stripe across her face. "Snowflake, no! Gross!" Hawke yelled, pushing him away. She saw that all of the remaining Qunari had been thrown to the ground by the blast and any who moved were quickly put down by Isabela. Hawke scrambled as gracefully as a newborn colt to her knees before throwing her arm good arm around Snowflake's neck and kissing the top of his head.

"I knew you would save me, Snow!" she babbled, not even caring when he licked her face again, his breath rancid and muzzle coated in blood.

"Hey, what am I? Chopped nug liver?" Varric huffed as he came jogging toward them.

" _You_ ," Hawke snarled, hugging Snowflake tighter, "almost blew me up. And Bela left me. I should have known… Snowflake's the only one who really loves me."

Snowflake barked and panted happily at Varric. His tongue rolled up and he sniffed the air, whining as he turned his head and nosed at Hawke's arm that dangled limply at her side.

"Shit. Are you hurt, Hawke?"

Tattletale," Hawke grumbled, patting Snowflake's flank before using him to climb to her feet. "It's only a scratch, Varric. Relax."

"'Hawke said as she stoically bled to death on the Wounded Coast'," he recited when he reached her side and gently grasped her upper arm above the cut. "Here, let me take a look."

"Not yet. I need to see to Ketojan."

Hawke found him still kneeling on the ground where they'd left him. Whatever spell Aardvark had used on Ketojan had yet to fade.

"Can you stand?" Hawke asked and – surprise, surprise - received a grunt in response.

Ketojan turned his head toward the scepter his handler had dropped and Hawke picked it up curiously. A light shot out of the tip at her touch and she jerked back, dropping the damned thing when electricity jolted up her arm.

"Now who has a hair-trigger, Hawke?" Varric snickered.

"I am..." Ketojan said in a voice like gravel as he stood. Hawke and Varric both gaped at him. "...unbound. Odd...wrong...but you deserve honor."

Hawke only noticed then that someone had sewn Ketojan's lips shut. She could see the painful way his skin pulled and puckered around the black threads with each labored word.

"You are now Basvaarad, worthy of following. I thank your intent, even if it was...wrong," Ketojan said, inclining his head fractionally in her direction.

"You hear that, Varric? I'm a Baardvark."

"Great, you're a musically inclined mammal with a long snout. Any other revelations you want to drop on us, big guy?"

"I know the will of Arvaarad. I must return as demanded. It is the wisdom...of the Qun."

Ketojan started walking toward an outcropping that overlooked the sea where a half-sunken boat had crashed into a small island in the distance. Hawke hurried to keep up with him.

"So after all this, now you want to die?" she asked incredulously.

"I do not want to die, I want to live by the Qun."

"Which means  _dying_."

"Yes. Is that hard to grasp? I have chosen. It is bred in the bone."

"Existing is not a choice."

"It is the only choice.  _Asit tal-eb._  It is to be."

"Petrice might take you back if death is the only other option," Hawke cajoled.

"The sister was not honest."

"What do you mean?" she demanded. Dammit. She should have known better than to trust some random woman hustling in Lowtown, Chantry robes or not.

"I cannot say what she wanted, but it was certainly not of the Qun. And her guard smelled of death."

Hawke tried one last attempt, struggling for a way to convince him to choose life even if that meant abandoning his beliefs, which sucked anyway. "Others of your kind live outside the Qun. You could join them."

"They are not my kind. I am Qunari. They are not."

"They have chosen to be free."

"Free? They have refused what they are. I...can't choose to 'not be'."

"I can't let this decision stand," Hawke said in a final tone. She was going to save Ketojan from himself even if she had to whap him with that scepter until he got it into his thick skull.

"If you force choice, it is not choice," Ketojan said, entirely too reasonable. Hawke was seriously regretting giving him his voice back. "Your doubt does not make me wrong. Certainty is comfort. That is the way of the Qunari. The way of the Qun."

Ketojan held his hand out to her and Hawke took it. She squeezed as hard as she could while she looked desperately up into his masked face, struggling to find the magic words to change his mind that just wouldn't come. When he pulled back, a leather cord swung from Hawke's fingers, weighed down by a round, black pendant that didn't appear to be made of any stone she'd ever seen.

No, not stone, she realized as she ran her thumb over its rough, uneven surface. Horn. Part of Ketojan's missing horns.

"Take this secret thing, Basvaarad. Remember this day."

He stepped away from her and looked out to the sea once more. Hawke didn't know if she was supposed to just leave him there or what, but suddenly Ketojan raised his arms and burst into flames.

"No!" Hawke yelled.

She tried to rush forward but there were arms around her, holding her back. She watched helplessly as Ketojan sunk to his knees, the scent of charred flesh filling the air and clogging her lungs. He didn't let a single cry of agony escape him as he burned to death right in front of her.

"You stupid motherfucker! I could have saved you!" Hawke shouted, yanking herself free from the unwanted embrace as she buried her hands in her hair and watched until the last of the flames died away, leaving behind a pile of ash and bone.

"No one could have saved him, Hawke," Varric said quietly. He rested a hand on her shoulder and then drew her back when she didn't resist. "Clearly Petrice set a trail right to us."

"I guess that means we're not getting paid then?" Isabela said. "Damn. I really wanted a new hat."

"Poor, dumb asshole," Hawke muttered, kicking at the sand rather than Ketojan's remains. She half wanted to punt his charred skull into the water, but knowing her luck he'd only come back to haunt her.

This whole setup had been fucked from the beginning. When was she going to learn to stop walking into ambushes?

Hawke stalked away and dropped down onto a rock. She could see flashes of Isabela here and there while the pirate looted the bodies for valuables. Hawke pulled out the squished roll from her breastband that she'd stolen earlier and sighed sadly when she saw that it was covered in sweat and blood and sand. She wasn't very hungry anyway. She tossed the roll away from her, only to watch it be caught midair and gobbled down by Snowflake. That dog's obsession with food was unhealthy. If he didn't watch it, someone was going to catch him and eat him themselves.

"You have any chicken hidden in there?" Varric joked tiredly as he sat next to her and groaned as he took the weight off his feet. "I'm starving."

"No, but there's a perfectly good Qunari roasting over there," Hawke said bitterly.

The smell of burned flesh and smoke made her stomach rumble and turn over in equal amounts. She might even have to consider going Snowflake's route and start eating people since she couldn't seem to catch a decent meal anyway. It was only a matter of time before he started shitting out fingers and toes. He desperately needed to go on a diet.

"I'm sorry, Hawke," Varric said quietly, unbuckling his belt.

Hawke didn't even have the energy to flirt. She held out her left arm while Varric wrapped his belt around her upper arm in a makeshift a tourniquet. She was starting to feel lightheaded but didn't know if it was from the lack of food, sleep, or blood. She might have nicked a vein, now that she thought about it. She wished Ketojan had used a healing spell on her before he'd decided to go 'poof', but he didn't exactly have the healthiest relationship or control over his magic, so it was probably better that he hadn't.

"Why can't anything ever be simple?" Hawke said as Varric secured the ends of the belt and threw his duster over her shoulders when Hawke began to shiver - probably from shock. "Help a strange apostate, get templars on the hunt for you. Help a strange Qunari apostate, get an entire group of Qunari after you. I can't win."

"I don't know about you, but I'm sensing a reoccurring theme here."

"Yeah. Get my fucking payment upfront from now on. Shit. I have to tell the Arishok about this."

"Why on earth would you want to do that? Haven't you heard of a thing called 'killing the messenger' before?"

"I doubt the Arishok would kill someone for delivering bad news. He'd consider it a waste of resources and besides, better he find out from me than have to hear rumors and assume the worst. Kirkwall's on the brink of war with the Qunari as it is, and I'd rather this not be the gaatlok keg that sets them off if the Chantry's actively plotting against them."

"I think Petrice might have been working solo on this one. I can't imagine Elthina condoning something like this. But enough talking. The nice oxmen were thoughtful enough to leave us a fire, so what'll it be? Cauterizing or stitches?"

"Ugh…stitches. I've had enough of people being set on fire for one day."

Hawke wobbled as Varric helped her over to the fire so she could warm up and also so he could see well enough to stick a needle in her. He propped her up against a log so she wouldn't tip over into the fire. Snowflake tucked himself against her side and laid his head in her lap, gazing up at her woefully.

"Got any booze on you? Wait, nevermind."

Hawke patted down the coat pockets until she found his flask. She heard the slosh of liquid inside and sighed in relief until she remembered she had only one working hand with which to open it. She was about to say "fuck it" and attempt to unscrew the top with her teeth, which is what the Maker gave them to her for, except Varric plucked the flask out of her hand before she could.

"Do not make me do this sober," Hawke begged, actually feeling herself tear up a bit as she watched him flick off the cap. He held his hand out for her arm instead of letting her have the flask back.

"Sorry, sweetheart. I know this'll hurt like fuck, but the last you want to do is get sewn up with sand floating around in your arm."

"Then fucking cut off the arm and let me have a damned drink, Varric."

"I'd still have to disinfect the stump. Do you want me to wait until you pass out from blood loss first?"

"Too...too late," Hawke slurred, listing to the side as the campfire went blurry and she felt nausea rise up in her gorge as the pain receptors in her arm suddenly kicked back to life. The adrenaline that carried her this far had already depleted their diminished reserves. "Gonna...gonna..."

Hawke passed out before Varric could even thread the needle.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, but here's an extra long chapter to make up for it! This chapter features steamy threesome action! I'll let you be surprised by who's all in it (if the tags don't give it away XD)
> 
> On another note, I just finished writing out the first draft of the epilogue (which will be quite some time in coming, mind you) to this ridiculous one-shot that grew horns and tentacles when I wasn't looking. I want to thank my readers for sticking with me while I shamelessly indulge my Varric/Hawke fangirling and also to my dear Rose, to whom this work would not have been possible. 
> 
> I love and adore you all!
> 
> Enjoy!!!

Hawke wasn't at all surprised to wake up groggy with an aching head and a taste like cotton and death in her mouth. She even felt the familiar scrape of wood against her back, which was starting to get old fast. Pretty soon she was going to forget what waking up in an actual bed felt like. She hitched in a sharp breath and nearly choked when instead of the musk and ale scent she was used to her nose was assaulted by the overpowering stench of damp earth and sewage.

"What in the name of bloody Andraste," Hawke coughed, half gagging as she rolled to her side. She wasn't expecting the ground to not be there when she did. Her eyes flew open and she shouted right as she hit the floor, landing with her left arm pinned painfully beneath her.

"Easy," someone who wasn't Varric said as a hand touched Hawke's shoulder. She lashed out and had the person pinned by the throat, straddling their waist as she groped for an invisible knife.

"Anders?" Hawke blurted, staring down at the healer-slash-Warden-slash-apostate in bewilderment. "What are you doing in Varric's room?"

She knew as soon as she said them the words were not correct. They were not, in fact, in Varric's room, or at the Hanged Man at all. Somehow Hawke had ended up in Darktown, passed out on Anders' table that he used for patients in his makeshift clinic. Anders was going an interesting shade of purple and Hawke belatedly realized she was still strangling him. She quickly let go but fisted the collar of his absurd coat instead.

"You'd better start talking."

"Maybe...you want to put something on first?" Anders said, still sounding strangled. His face was bright red even though she'd stopped choking him.

A glance down at her bare nipples confirmed that, aside from some grubby-looking bandages wrapped around her left arm, she was wearing nothing but a pair of stained and filthy smallclothes. Anders was staring determinedly at the ceiling when she looked back at him accusingly.

"No, I don't think I do. Now, what the fuck is going on?"

"Say thank you to the nice mage, Hawke," Varric said, coming into the room and closing the door behind him. Varric didn't even blink at finding his nearly-naked girlfriend straddling another man. "He's the reason you didn't bleed to death, despite your best attempts."

Hawke stared blankly for a moment, trying to remember what he was talking about or how she'd even gotten to the clinic in the first place. She let go of Anders and prodded at her left arm, which was sore but didn't produce more than a twinge when she experimentally bent her elbow.

Petrice, she abruptly remembered. Ketojan. Fighting the Qunari. Passing out on the beach…

"How did you and Isabela get me here all the way from the Coast?" Hawke asked.

"We built a sled, tied you to Snowflake, and let him drag you here. I'm kicking myself for not coming up with that particular mode of transportation sooner. You know how much travel time we could have been saving all along?"

It said a lot about their relationship that Hawke didn't even question the validity of his explanation, whether it was actually true or not.

"Do you want to get off now?" Anders groaned. His arms were splayed out wide in an obvious attempt not to touch any part of her, even though he must have gotten well and intimately acquainted with her body while she'd been unconscious – as her current state of undress could attest.

"I thought you'd never ask," Hawke purred and gave a teasing wiggle just to be an asshole, only to squawk when he shoved her off. Anders stood and dusted off his robes, pointedly not looking at either one of them while Varric helped her up.

"I brought you clothes," Varric said, setting down a bundle down on the table Hawke had been lying on before she'd fallen off of it. "Blondie here didn't have any spare clothing and I'm afraid we couldn't salvage much of yours."

Replacing her clothing and armor would be annoying and expensive, but most of what she owned had either been stolen or salvaged anyway. Finding something that fit her tall, narrow build was always a process, though.

The pendant Ketojan had given her had been placed on top of the pile, and with a pang of loss she placed it around her neck. She picked up an article of clothing next and pretended to examine it critically while ignoring her own nudity. She recognized the undergarments as the ones she'd lost some time ago in Varric's room, which had been cleaned and laundered. He'd also brought her warm wool leggings and a shirt and socks from her trunk at Gamlen's as well as the coat he had loaned her at the Hanged Man.

"Admit it, Varric. You'd kill for any excuse to get me naked," Hawke said.

"Do I really need an excuse?" He leaned an arm against the edge of the table and twitched a smirk at her.

"I distinctly recall you promising to tattoo my name on your ass if I shut up and took my clothes off not too long ago," Hawke said.

She stripped out of her smalls without breaking eye contact with Varric in a clear challenge. She had to suppress a laugh when Anders quickly found something to preoccupy himself with on the other side of the room. Hawke nearly jumped out of her skin when something cold touched her bare ankle. She darted a glance underneath the table and found Snowflake, who she somehow missed seeing earlier. He was curled around her boots and gave her a  _woof_  in greeting before going back to chewing very gently on the leather.

"You remember that, huh?" Varric said, moving in a little closer to her when she stood back up.

"I don't forget potential blackmail material, Varric."

Important things like Bethany's birthday and remembering to wear clean socks, however, were another matter entirely. Hawke took her time putting on her smalls and drawing them up over her hips. She felt thick and sluggish, from her brain to her fingers, and wasn't intending to drag out a reverse strip tease, but she was intensely aware of Varric's eyes on her and Anders puttering around behind them. She toyed with the fabric of her breastband, but didn't put it on just yet.

"You  _are_  good for your word, aren't you?" she goaded, refusing to let the subject slide quite yet.

"I was being facetious, Hawke. And anyway, that ship has already sailed."

"So...you  _don't_  want me to take my clothes off anymore?" Hawke clutched the breastband to her chest and bit her bottom lip coyly.

"Now who's being facetious?" Varric growled. He snatched the breastband away and fiddled with the clasps in the back, even though he could remove her underclothes faster than she could blink.

"I love it when you use big words, Varric. Say 'dichotomy' next."

Hawke lifted her arms obediently when Varric held the fabric up against her breasts. He fastened the ends together behind her back, face close enough to kiss her chest. His whiskey-colored eyes flicked up to hers and managed to look disapproving despite their current position.

"It's pronounced 'die-cot-o-me'. I bet you don't even know what it means."

"Sure I do. It means you don't want to take your big ol' 'dick-o to me'?"

Anders cleared his throat, banging around a few glass jars in a cabinet tucked against the far wall.

Varric took a step back and looked her over critically. Hawke didn't say anything and let him indulge his fill. He didn't take his dick to her, but instead brushed his fingertips down the bandages on her left arm in a careful, clinical manner that he repeated over her ribs, her eye, her nose - anywhere she had previously been injured.

She was now mostly healed beneath the smudges of dried blood, dirt, and ash. Whoever had cleaned her up had only done a perfunctory job. She was grimy and felt sand flake off of her every time she moved. She was literally itching for a bath, but judging by the state of Anders' little hideout - and Anders himself - she sincerely doubted he had any tubs full of hot water conveniently lying about.

"Are you going to let me get dressed so we can give Anders back his clinic?" Hawke said softly, voice dipping down an octave.

"In a minute."

Varric's hands finished their exam and came to rest on Hawke's waist. The sensation of his calloused thumbs stroking again and again over the hollow of her hipbones was slowly driving her mad and she could feel herself becoming lightheaded at the gentle contact. Hawke swayed forward and slapped her hand against the table to catch herself when lightheaded threatened to turn into passing out.

"Dammit," Varric said, grabbing her arms and helping Hawke sit down on the table before she fell. "You're still injured, Hawke," he scolded, sounding more angry at himself.

"M'fine," she muttered, clutching a hand to her forehead as she tried to will the room to stop spinning. She could feel herself start to sweat even as her skin went cold and clammy. Anders appeared back at her side, coaxing her to lay down before tugging a sheet over her.

"You've lost a lot of blood and there's only so much magic can do. I'm afraid you'll just have to recover the old-fashioned way," he said regretfully.

"By becoming a vampire?" Hawke suggested.

"Should I refrain from making sucking jokes in front of your...?"

"Varric," Hawke said. She refused to use the term 'boyfriend' or 'lover' out loud even though Varric had no issue flinging labels about. "Or partner in crime, if you must."

"You're still recovering, so I'll give you a free pass this time," Varric said. "Don't let her fool you, Blondie. She's already brought me home to meet her mother."

"That is serious," Anders said. "I assume condolences are in order."

"Fuck you, Anders," Hawke croaked out a laugh. "My mother's a saint. My uncle on the other hand…"

Varric lifted Hawke's head so he could tuck the bundle of clothing underneath as a cushion. He shook out the coat he'd brought her and draped it over her shoulders before reaching out to smooth the hair away from her forehead.

"Doing okay, sweetheart?"

"Ugh. I don't know how blood mages do it. I feel like shit."

"That's why the smart or really evil ones use other people's blood," Anders said. "And since you are neither a vampire nor a blood mage, it's important that you drink a lot of fluids and  _rest_."

"Don't wanna," Hawke grumped around a yawn, but then Anders' hand replaced Varric's on her forehead and he must have done some kind of magical thingy because she was out like a light.

\---

Waking up in Anders' clinic was a vastly different experience the second time around.

For one, Hawke remembered where she was and didn't immediately fall off the table. The pitted wood surface wasn't the most comfortable she'd ever been on, but she'd woken up in worse places. She blinked open her eyes and turned her head to find Anders working at his desk, Varric having run off to only the Maker knew where. She dangled her hand over the edge of the table and relaxed a little when Snowflake licked her fingertips. At least Varric hadn't left her completely alone with a strange apostate.

"I'm still naked under here," Hawke announced loudly. She watched Anders jump and fumble the quill he'd been writing with, cursing as ink blotted his letter. Technically, she had her underclothes on, but she was more naked than not at the moment.

"I promise I didn't peek if that makes you feel any better," Anders said, recovering from his initial shock to tease.

"Well, damn. Opportunity wasted."

"I'll remember that for next time," Anders chuckled. He lowered his quill and lifted the parchment he'd been writing on, blowing lightly over the wet ink before regarding the large black spots smudging the words together. He crumpled the letter and tossed it over his shoulder with a sigh before digging through his desk for a fresh piece of parchment to start all over again.

"Sorry, one time offer only," Hawke said. "Guess you missed your chance...until the next time I pass out."

"Habit of yours?"

"More than you know," Hawke sighed, shuffling off the table so she could actually get up and get dressed.

When she wrangled her boots back from Snowflake and sat back down on the table to put them on she asked, "Where is Varric, anyway? I'm surprised he left us alone together. It's like he's asking me to cheat on him."

"I'm sure we'll both manage to keep our hands to ourselves." Anders set down his letter and stood, knuckling the small of his back as he flashed a quick grin at her. "Though I imagine it must be difficult to resist a devilishly handsome mage such as myself."

"You have no idea," Hawke drawled, grinning back. Anders' demeanor went serious all of a sudden and Hawke tensed up warily in response.

"Listen, Hawke, I-"

"I brought dinner!" Varric called, entering the clinic with a large pot cradled under his arm. "You wouldn't  _believe_  how many people I had to fight off to get this here. I had to tell them it was a new type of portable privy."

"You promised me pastries, Varric," Hawke complained. "That does not look like pastries."

"Sorry, babe. Healer's orders."

"The refugees down here are starving," Anders said reproachfully. "Many of them haven't seen actual food in days. If you knew the number of children I've had to treat for rickets alone..."

"Hey, Blondie. Could we save the guilt trip if I promise to donate a large sack of rice or two to the cause? You said Hawke needed liquids, so I brought enough soup for all of us. That all right?"

Hawke felt a twinge of guilt for complaining when there were so many who went without right beneath her nose. Kirkwall was blind to the suffering of their poor or infirm or disabled, choosing instead to shuffle them off into Darktown where they would be out of sight and out of mind.

"Sorry. I can get a little worked up about these kinds of things," Anders said, looking abashed. His cheeks colored slightly as he scrubbed at the nape of his neck with one hand.

"Not a problem, so long as that little blue friend of yours doesn't come out again."

"Little blue…? Oh. You mean Justice. I…should probably explain."

"I think that's a good idea. Here, why don't we sit and you can tell us all about it."

The only place to sit in Anders' clinic was the table, his desk, or on a crate. Varric set the pot of soup down on the table next to Hawke and pulled up a crate. Anders chose to stand instead. Snowflake came out from beneath the table, sniffing hopefully, but Varric shooed him away before he could make a nuisance of himself. He produced three bowls and spoons from inside his duster, handing them out before the three of them dug in with gusto. The soup was a little bland and more liquid than substance, but it was warm and filling.

"When I was in Amaranthine, I met a spirit of Justice who was trapped outside the Fade," Anders said after he had finished off his third helping. He eyed the pot in a very similar manner to Snowflake until Varric reached out wordlessly and refilled his bowl. "We became friends. And he recognized the injustice that mages in Thedas face every day."

"And that's...different than a demon?" Hawke said skeptically. Anders didn't  _look_  possessed, but Hawke supposed not all abominations turned into grotesquely deformed monsters either. At least on the outside.

"Just as demons prey on the deadly sins of mankind, there are good spirits who embody our virtues. Spirits of compassion, fortitude...justice. They are the Maker's first children, and they have all but given up on us."

"But what does this have to do with your eyes glowing?" Hawke said.

"To live outside the Fade, he needed a host. I offered to help him... We were going to work together, bring justice to every child ever ripped away from his mother to be sent to the Circle. But...I guess I had too much anger. Once he was inside me, he...changed."

Hawke turned to look at Varric, eyes wide with concern. "I don't suppose you have any urge to glow and speak in a scary voice do you, Varric? You know, since you've been inside-"

"Not in front of the children, Hawke," Varric interrupted, pointing at Snowflake who cocked his head and whined.

"You're no fun," Hawke smirked before turning back to Anders. "So, you have this spirit of justice living inside your head?"

"It's not like that. He's gone now. He's part of me. It's not like we can...have a conversation. I feel his thoughts as my own."

"Not that I don't appreciate you fixing me up and all, but I think I've reached my quota for weird shit for the week. Just let me take those Deep Roads maps off your hands and we'll get out of your hair."

Hawke really could care less about hurting the guy's feelings, especially after what they went through attempting to free his friend. She had every intention of bolting and leaving this crazy-ass mage to his Justice spirit once she had her hands on those maps, but then again he had healed her twice without expecting anything in return. He seemed like a useful ally to have - if one looked past the inconvenient possession part.

"Of course," Anders said, sounding a little disappointed. "You're the first one I've ever told this. Thank you for not running away. For what it's worth, I'm sorry about what happened back at the Chantry. I never meant for anyone to get hurt. Is...is your sister all right?"

"She's fine."

 _No thanks to you_ , Hawke didn't say. She fixed a hard smile to her face and he dropped the subject. Snowflake's ears went back against his head and he let out a low growl, picking up on Hawke's agitation, until Varric settled a hand on top of his head.

"Right..." Anders said, eyeing Snowflake nervously. "I'll just...get those maps for you."

Anders turned away and went to open a cabinet containing a few sprigs of dried herbs, glass bottles, bandages, and an assortment of other medical supplies that seemed unnecessary considering Anders could heal someone with a wave of his hand. Hawke exchanged a loaded glance with Varric and swirled a finger in the air next to her temple.

_Crazy._

Varric nodded and flicked his eyes toward the door. Good. At least they were on the same page.

Anders rustled around shifting supplies aside before he emerged with a bundle of parchment in hand. "My maps are yours," he said, handing them over without a fuss. "...As am I, if you wish me to join your expedition."

"Wait. You actually  _want_  to go to the Deep Roads with us?" Hawke said incredulously, taking the maps and sticking them in her inner coat pocket for safe keeping. "Why?"

"It's the least I can do after what happened with Karl. I thought I was done with the Grey Wardens, but if you have any need of me... I will be waiting here."

"Are you busy right now?" Hawke asked.

"No more so than usual. Did you…have something in mind?"

"Maybe. I hope you don't mind me wanting to take you on a test run before trapping ourselves down in the Deep Roads together for possibly weeks or months on end."

"Fair point. So what's the test?"

Hawke grinned, showing a hint of teeth. "How do you feel about Qunari?"

"They're…uh…big?"

"Perfect."

Hawke refused to answer Anders' questions, choosing instead to remain playfully enigmatic rather than give the way the fact she had no idea what she was going to say or do once she went to report in with the Arishok. But before Hawke threw herself to the proverbial wolves, she was going to have a bath before she gave the Arishok any more reason to despise her kind _._

They exited Darktown not too far from the Hanged Man, so Hawke led the others there first. Fenris was sitting their usual table when they arrived. He was watching Isabela, who was busy at the bar chatting up Corff, which earned Fenris a few teasing remarks from Hawke when she was within hearing range.

"You stare at her ass any harder then Isabela really is going to pluck your eyes out and put them on a necklace."

Fenris raised an eyebrow as he looked Hawke up and down. "She said you were clinging to life by a thread, Hawke. Apparently, the pirate's exaggerated tales remain just so."

"That's not exactly true, Broody," Varric said. "Hawke was in pretty bad shape for a while there. Fortunately, our feathered friend here happens to be a healer who owes us a favor or two and fixed her up good as new. Blondie, meet Broody. Broody...Blondie."

Varric gestured between the pair of them as he made the necessary introductions.

"Anders, actually," Anders corrected, holding out a hand for Fenris to shake. "And I take it 'Broody' is a family name?"

"It's Fenris, and I have no family," Fenris said without taking Anders' hand. "You are a mage?"

"Yes," Anders said slowly, lowering his hand. "I used magic to heal Hawke. Is that a problem?"

"Ah, let's not get into this right now." Varric said and turned to Hawke, "Hawke, what's the plan?"

"I'm not doing anything until I get a bath," Hawke said. "I don't know about the rest of you, but sand  _chafes_."

"Aw. Do you have sand in your vagina, Hawke?" Isabela purred as she sauntered over with a drink in each hand. She placed a tankard down in front of Fenris and took a sip from her own as she leaned her hip against the table.

Hawke raised her eyebrows and looked toward Isabela's crotch pointedly. "And you're telling me you don't?"

"Believe me. I was  _thorough_. I could help if you'd like."

"I think I got this one, Bela. But thanks," Hawke said dryly.

"Interesting friends you have here, Hawke," Anders said. Isabela gave him her best shark-like grin.

"And what an interesting…and handsome…new friend you brought for us. I'm Isabela. So, how did you come to meet our illustrious leader…Anders, was it?"

"We—"

"Shopping," Hawke interrupted, jabbing an elbow into Anders' ribs. "We reached for the same piece of dragonfruit at a vendor's stall at the same time and it was literal sparks at first sight when I refused to let him have it. Isn't that funny?"

"Hilarious," Isabela yawned, clearly losing interest in the story.

Fuck, that'd been close.

She glared a warning at Anders, who thankfully he kept his mouth shut. She probably should have laid down the ground rules, like no mentioning Karl or  _that night_  at the Chantry, but Hawke was no good at lying convincingly, especially over any stretch of time. She would probably come clean sooner rather than later to Merrill, Fenris and Isabela since the matter had been resolved. Hopefully for good this time, and it could stop rearing its bloody head to bite her in the ass when she was least expecting it.

"There's water in the tub upstairs, Hawke," Varric said, taking his seat at the head of the table.

"You're not joining me?" Hawke asked.

"You and I both know exactly what'll happen if I do."

"I thought that was rather the point."

"And I thought you were eager to go see the Arishok? Which reminds me… Isabela and I had a little talk with Sister Petrice while you were knocked out."

Hawke glanced between the two rogues. She pulled out a chair next to Fenris and sat down with Snowflake curled up at her feet beneath the table. The bath could wait. Anders followed suit at a far more sedate pace, taking a seat next to Isabela and refusing a pint when it was offered with a shake of his head.

"What happened?" Hawke asked.

"Petrice and her pet templar were in the process of cleaning out their safehouse-"

"Erasing their tracks is more like it," Isabela scoffed. "They seemed surprised to see us. And even more surprised when we told them you were still alive."

"Did she admit she'd set us up?"

"Sister Petrice is one sly character, I'll give you that," Varric said. "She claimed that if the Qunari had murdered you for trying to help their slave mage then  _someone_  might have found that information useful. Without naming names, of course."

"Did she even care that Ketojan killed himself rather than be free?" Hawke demanded, clutching at the pendant around her neck.

"Oh, she said all the right things. She assumed he would have wanted to escape like anyone in his position, but wrote his death off as just one of those strange Qunari quirks."

"Slippery as an eel, that one," Isabela said.

"You said this Petrice is from the Chantry?" Anders said.

"Let's not go there, Blondie," Varric warned. "Anyway, I will say Petrice was at least good for her coin. I didn't even have to twist arms or break kneecaps this time."

"That's too bad," Hawke said, and meant it.

Varric dug out a coin purse from the inner pocket of his coat and tossed it to Hawke. She snatched it out of the air and upended the contents onto her palm without preamble. There were seven gold sovereigns stamped with the profile image of Andraste. They were worth a hundred silvers each, but the amount seemed a pittance for all the lives needlessly lost.

Hawke just couldn't get away from death no matter what she did.

"I think I'll have that bath now," she said quietly, dropping the coins back into the bag and shoving it inside a coat pocket next to Anders' maps. She got up and went upstairs without another word.

There was bathwater waiting for her as promised. She undressed and removed the wrappings on her left arm, tracing a finger along the angry red line down her forearm that probably should have killed her, like so many of her other scars. The cold water felt like penance and absolution all at once. She scrubbed at her skin and scalp until her fingernails were flecked with red underneath and the water had gone a deep, murky grey. She drained the water before drying and dressing quickly. She toweled off her hair so it didn't drip down the back of her neck in icy rivulets and combed the damp, wiry locks with her fingers. She didn't bother glancing in Varric's shaving mirror, not really wanting to look herself in the eyes at the moment.

When she went back downstairs, Anders seemed to have integrated himself well with Hawke's friends - with the exception of Fenris, who either glared or ignored him entirely.

"I keep thinking I know you from somewhere..." Anders was saying to Isabela when Hawke walked over and perched herself on the arm of Varric's chair. He wrapped an arm around her waist and she leaned into his side.

"You're Fereldan, right? Ever spend time at the Pearl?" Isabela asked.

Isabela was already working on her second drink even though Hawke sincerely doubted they'd been her first of the day. Varric had a tankard in front of him as well, which he slid toward Hawke without even needing to be asked. She dropped a kiss to the top of his head in thanks before picking up the mug and draining its contents thirstily. She nearly spat the liquid back out when she realized it was only water and not the ale she'd been expecting.

She coughed and swallowed resentfully while contemplating hitting Varric over the head with her now empty mug. That meddlesome sonuva…

"That's it! You used to really like that girl with the griffon tattoos, right? What was her name?" Anders said.

"The Lay Warden?" Isabela answered, raising her eyebrow.

"That's right! I think you were there the night I-"

"Oh! Were you the runaway mage who could do that electricity thing? That was nice..." Isabela said, face softening in fond remembrance as she leaned a little further into his space.

Fenris, impossibly, scowled harder.

"I don't think I need to know this about either of you," Varric said, sounding pained.

"Yes. Please stop talking. Now," Hawke seconded.

"We have to hear all about you and Varric, Hawke. Let me at least have the electricity thing."

"You only hear things because you keep an ear pressed to the door, Isabela," Hawke said.

"So?"

"So now I'm changing the subject. Anyway, I'm about to go tell the Arishok some really bad news. By a raise of hands…who would like to come?"

Hawke raised her own hand and beamed at her companions. Anders' and Fenris' hands came up right away, though they eyed each other warily. Varric flicked his fingers in assent even though Hawke didn't really expect anything less, and even Snowflake  _woofed_  from under the table.

The only hand that didn't move was Isabela's.

"You go on ahead. I...have to see a man about a dog," Isabela said effusively.

"Why would you want to do that? We have a perfectly good Snowflake right here," Hawke said.

"Yes, but that one drools."

"All dogs drool, Isabela."

"Still, if it's all the same, I would rather not."

Hawke eyed Isabela suspiciously. "Fine. But you get to take Snowflake with you. See if you can't give him a B-A-T-H while you're at it. He smells."

Snowflake whined and crawled out from beneath the table to sit down next to Varric's chair. He placed his chin on her thigh and gave her sad eyes. He was covered in sand and dried blood from the Wounded Coast, so those eyes were not going to work on her this time.

"I'll take him, but even I know better than to try getting him anywhere near water. You should have pushed him into the coast while we were there if you wanted to give him a bath-"

"Isabela!"

Too late. Snowflake howled and bolted. He knocked into the table and sent all their drinks flying onto Isabela and Anders' side. Thankfully, most of the mugs had been empty, or nearly so, but Anders got the worst of it.

"I think that may be an improvement, Blondie," Varric joked as Anders jumped up and tried to wring out his drenched robes.

"And this is exactly why I don't wear pants," Isabela said, brushing off her bare thighs smugly as she kicked her boots up on the table and crossed her ankles together.

"I don't either," Anders said, casting a quick spell over the sodden material that dried them instantly. "Ugh. I smell like a brewery."

"So, what  _do_  you have under there?" Hawke said with interest.

"Oh, I could tell you all about what's under those robes, sweet thing. Though I might need a refresher first…"

Isabela teased Anders, who flirted right back, until Fenris threatened to flip the table over onto them both again. Norah came by to swipe a rag over the tabletop and take away their empty tankards since they clearly couldn't be trusted to handle refills. By the time everything was put back to rights, Snowflake had completely vanished.

"Don't worry, Hawke. He'll turn up eventually," Varric said when they all gathered up to leave, minus Snowflake and Isabela.

"I'm not worried about that. Knowing Snowflake, he'll come back after rolling in something unmentionable just to spite me."

"Like mabari, like mistress."

The Qunari compound by the docks was unchanged since the first time she'd gone there after a dwarf named Javaris had enlisted her help in killing Tal-Vashoth on the Wounded Coast some months ago. It was enclosed by high walls on all sides with Qunari prowling the walkways and guarding the gates and standing around looking effortlessly intimidating. All conversation ceased as Hawke talked her way into the compound and entered with Varric, Fenris, and Anders in tow.

The Arishok hadn't been impressed by her then and he certainly wasn't impressed now.

The leader of the Qunari was the biggest, most ferocious looking man Hawke had ever seen in her entire life and somehow made the enormous throne he was sitting on look tiny. He managed to exude menace even with his knees practically wedged up to his pointy, gold-plated ears. He scowled as she approached his podium and stopped at the base of the stairs.

"Why do you bother me, human? I hire no blades and need no goods. Your kind think selfishness and want are normal. This city, all of it, leaves a bad taste."

"I've had confrontations with others in your command," Hawke said, finding no point of buttering the Arishok up or leading in with perhaps a hello or an idle comment about the weather.

"There have been a number of incidents, but you must mean Arvaarad, found dead after tracking Saarebas." The Arishok bowed his head and said, almost to himself, "I thought nothing could threaten Arvaarad."

Hawke actually thought she heard hints of an emotion that was possibly something other than blatant anger or disgust creep into his rumbling tone.

"You're not angry?" Hawke ventured, unable to resist prodding even when the Arishok's eyes snapped up to pin her with that terrifying gaze of his.

"A mage is dead. That is what matters. The rest is...impressive. But do not repeat it."

"I believe a member of the Chantry intended it to happen."

"Friend and enemy blend together in this sea of filth. I can barely discern one group from another. But as this clearly means something to you, I acknowledge the risk taken."

"Ketojan...Saarebas chose death over leaving the Qun," Hawke pressed.

"That is good to hear."

"That's all you have to say?" she said incredulously.

"I will not insult Saarebas with the suggestion that making the right choice was difficult. I expect as much from every Qunari. I doubt Saarebas earned a greater honor in his life than my reaction now," the Arishok said, entirely stone-faced.

A flame of rage burned hot in Hawke's belly at his dismissive response. She curled her fingers into fists so tight her nails bit her palms as she restrained herself from doing something stupid. Like charging up those stairs, grabbing the Arishok by the horns, and...and...

…And getting stabbed or shot by one of his many guards before she even made it up the first step.

"Saarebas called me a Baardvark. I don't suppose that has any meaning to you?"

"I think you mean Basvaarad, Hawke," Fenris corrected before the Arishok's glower could get any more dire. "It means 'worthy of following'."

"A title given by an unbound Saarebas, separated from his karataam and potentially influenced by demons, is without value. You have not earned the right to call yourself Basvaarad,  _bas_."

"Again with the name calling," Hawke muttered as she wrapped her fingers around the talisman that hung from her neck.

It was a gift that Hawke valued even if the Arishok dismissed its giver so callously. Arguing for Ketojan's honor would earn her nothing except being tossed out on her ass. Literally. Any one of these Qunari could pick her up like a sack of potatoes and heave her over the twenty-foot walls, which wasn't anything Hawke wanted to attempt before humans became capable of flight.

"I have nothing further to discuss," she said, clenching her jaw. She recognized when she couldn't be outstubborned.

"Panahedan, human."

Hawke could feel the Arishok's eyes on her back as they left the compound. She let a shiver run down her spine when she rounded the corner and the last of the Qunari guards were out of sight. She wanted to hit a wall almost as badly as she wanted to haul Varric off into an alley nearby and fuck the frustration and anger and arousal out of her system.

Standing in front of the Arishok again had been no less daunting than the first time he had fixed his sharp-eyed, judgmental gaze upon her and verbally flayed her from the inside out. It didn't help that impossibly deep and powerful voice of his thrummed in Hawke's chest and called to something primal within her - much like Varric's did when he was balls-deep inside of her and growling out Hawke's name right before he came.

She leaned against a wall to close her eyes and catch her breath. She replayed the entire interaction and substituted reality for wild fantasies of what she would have done if she'd had the balls to get close enough. Instead of slapping him, maybe she would have grabbed him by the horns, straddled his lap so they were eye-to-eye, and…

"All right there, Hawke?" Varric asked, sounding amused. "You look a little flushed."

"I bet the Arishok could pick me up one-handed and fuck me without even breaking a sweat," she sighed wistfully.

Anders choked.

"Oh, like you wouldn't love that," Hawke said to Anders. Her head came up so she could level a glare at him, even though she couldn't possibly know what Anders did or did not like in bed. Other than the electricity thing.

"I can see why you wanted back up, Hawke," Anders said, recovering quickly. Pretty soon he would become inured to the shit that came out of Hawke's mouth, much like Fenris and Varric had. He wouldn't be nearly as fun to tease then. "The Qunari are more terrifying than I realized. I can tell they have no love lost for Kirkwall…or its people."

"What you saw back there was the Arishok actually being  _nice_ ," Varric said. "Believe me, you do not want to piss that guy off."

"Seems to me like Hawke wanted to do more than piss him off," Fenris said.

"Then I wish you all the luck in the world, sweetheart," Varric said to Hawke, sounding like he meant it. "Even I'm not trying to compete with a man who thinks that someone setting himself on fire in the name of the Qun is a job well done."

"Varric, I'll warn you right now. If the Arishok ever prepositioned me I would leave in a heartbeat and sail off into the sunset on his dreadnought, never to be seen or heard from again. He even comes with his own convenient handlebars."

"I think you mean 'propositioned', Hawke."

"You see!" Hawke said, pointing a finger at Varric. "That is exactly my point. I bet the Arishok wouldn't correct my grammar."

"No, he'd only recondition you to follow and obey the Qun through methods only known to his people," Fenris said.

"I never said he was perfect."

"Every man should know his competition, I guess," Varric shrugged.

Hawke nudged his arm and he nudged her back.

"I suppose he does have one failing," she said. "His size and voice make up for a lot, but I'm afraid there's just one thing I can't forgive."

"Only the one?" Varric inquired.

"This I have to hear," Anders said. He fell into line behind her and Varric with Fenris bringing up the rear as they started walking toward…somewhere. Back to the Hanged Man, perhaps, unless something else happened to come along.

"So what is this unforgivable sin, Hawke?" Varric prompted, squeezing her hand when she slipped it into his.

"A complete lack of chest hair whatsoever," she said, heaving a dramatic sigh. "The paint's great and all, but Qunari are way too smooth. It's unnatural. So I guess you don't have to worry about me running off with the Arishok anytime soon, Varric."

Or anyone else, for that matter.

"Good. I hate running and it would be a pain chasing after you."

"Oh, like you wouldn't just shoot me again anyway."

"You have to admit it's effective."

"Yes, and you still owe me a tattoo. Hey, Fenris. Do you happen to know anyone?" Hawke asked, twisting her head over her shoulder to consider his markings, which glowed faintly against his tan skin.

"My first memory is of receiving these markings…the lyrium being branded into my flesh. The agony wiped away everything. Whatever life I had before I became a slave is lost."

"That is definitely not something I want on my ass," Varric said.

"I have a tattoo," Anders said a little wistfully. "I think it was around the third or fourth time I escaped the Circle. I was young and had a few drinks, so it seemed like a good idea at the time."

"What is it?" Varric asked.

" _Where_  is it?" Hawke said, which - to her - was the more important question.

"That's the thing… I haven't actually seen it. It's behind my left shoulder where I can't quite make it out in a mirror. I'm told it's something resembling a cat. Or a toad getting eaten by a snake. Personally, I prefer the first option."

"I can see how you would, Blondie," Varric said, and then covered his mouth over a yawn. "I don't know about the rest of you, but I think I'm going to call it an early evening."

"You haven't slept yet, have you?" Hawke asked.

Varric had marched and fought exhaustively before he, or Snowflake with a sled, had dragged her carcass all the way back to Darktown from the Wounded Coast. Then Varric had brought her clothes and soup and somehow still found the time to interrogate Petrice while Hawke had been unconscious. Even now, he followed at her heels without a break, without a complaint - except for the most superficial.

"I caught a cat nap here and there. I won't keel over if I don't make it to a bed right away."

"You should try the floor sometime. It's highly underrated," Hawke advised.

"You would know, Hawke. Are you coming back with me?"

"Yes," Hawke said. She brought his hand up to her lips and brushed a kiss over his knuckles just to see his eyes crinkle with a smile. "Anders. Fenris. Thanks for your help. I'll contact you later if anything comes up."

"See you around, Hawke," Anders said. "I'll let you know if I find any good tattoo artists."

"Please don't encourage her, Blondie," Varric groaned. "Because she'll actually make me do it, and then I'll have to kick your ass."

"Just be sure to have a few drinks beforehand if you do end up getting one. I promise you won't feel a thing. Or, if you do, at least you won't remember."

Hawke and Varric didn't pass any tattoo artists on the way back to the tavern, but she suspected he took a roundabout route just as a precaution. It felt like the first time they'd been alone together in ages. Since Bethany's party, at the very least, and even that had been interrupted.

"So...negotiations. Let's say, in theory, there was someone else you wanted to...spend horizontal time with…I wouldn't exactly be opposed. With some stipulations of course," Varric said out of nowhere.

Or perhaps, not so out of nowhere.

Hawke had only been half-joking about running away with the Arishok, but it wasn't as if  _that_  would ever happen. He had made his opinion of humans – and her – very clear. Besides, having one relationship was exhausting enough, even though Hawke had it easy compared to the hoops Varric jumped through on a daily basis just to keep Hawke from getting herself killed.

"Like what?" Hawke said. Varric  _wanted_  her to sleep around?

"Like…don't keep it a secret from me. If you wanna, say, grey Blondie's warden, then all I ask is that you warn me beforehand so I don't walk in on any surprises. Decree number two: Everyone involved knows that you're with me at the end of the day."

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather piss on me to mark your territory?" Hawke said sarcastically to cover up the thrill of panic and pleasure she got whenever Varric became possessive over her. He wasn't usually the type to bother with any macho bullshit or posturing, but something about Hawke just seemed to bring out the best in people.

"That'll have to be a different conversation. Another time, perhaps."

"And what's rule number three?" she said, deciding to play along.

"I retain veto rights. If I think your choice in partners will either get you or someone else hurt, then I get to nix it. Not that I think it'll even be an issue...but better safe than sorry."

"I supposed I can allow you the same conditions…" Hawke said reluctantly, really not liking the idea of Varric with another woman without her there to supervise or criticize his technique.

"Nah," Varric said with a crooked grin. "One crossbow kind of dwarf, remember?"

"How does that make any sense!" Hawke burst out, barely resisting the urge to smack him. "So you get to be all...benevolent and self-sacrificing and shit? Can you honestly say you'd be happy if I was out whoring myself around town?"

"Of course not, Hawke. But I'm not trying to keep you trapped either."

"You can't give me something like...like what you gave me," she said, meaning the sapphire necklace that she kept trying not to think about, "and then claim not to care who I sleep with, Varric. Either you mean it when you tell everyone I'm yours, or you don't. There is no in-between."

Hawke lived in the grey areas, but in this particular instance she desperately needed clear-cut black and white.

Varric pulled Hawke aside next to a merchant's stall and gently grasped both her hands when they fluttered in agitation. She wanted to fist her hands in his hair and crack their skulls together, but in a contest of who was the most hardheaded Hawke wasn't entirely confident that she would win.

"You're going to have to help me out here, Hawke. I can't read minds."

"Sure as shit seems like it," she muttered, looking down and away.

She wanted to pull away and melt into the crowd, become someone anonymous and unimportant for a little while. Instead, she had Varric watching her like she was the only thing that mattered…the only thing that existed inside his whole world. Hawke didn't know if she could handle that much responsibility. Varric was incredibly resilient, but everyone had their breaking point. She didn't want to be the one who broke him if this all went pear-shaped.

She took a deep breath and released it slowly. They were both adults, and he was her best friend for a reason. She didn't have to worry that he would judge her. He'd done some stupid shit himself in the time they'd known each other, so Hawke knew this wasn't a case of her being defective or whatever. She'd just never cared so much or had this much hanging on the line.

She wanted Varric exclusively to herself at the same time she wanted everyone in the world to know that he was hers. She didn't know how to translate the way she felt into words, but one thing she did know was how to jump right in the deep end and muddle through the consequences later.

"Since that's out of the way, tell me honestly," Hawke said, leveling Varric with a  _look_. "…How do you feel about threesomes?"

"Nice try, Hawke," he said, shoulders relaxing a little. "The last thing I need is some strange guy sticking things where they don't belong – in either of us."

"So, theoretically, what if it wasn't a stranger? Or a man at all?"

Varric didn't seem opposed to experimenting, exactly. She was rather hoping he was in favor of threesomes, if only so she could check one thing off her bucket list. It was right up there along with turning herself into a dragon and bathing in a tub full of melted chocolate. A threesome seemed a reasonable enough request, comparatively speaking.

"Something tells me you already have someone in mind. Are you going to make me regret asking?"

"So don't ask. Just...watch?"

"You're going to kill me, Hawke," Varric groaned, but let himself be dragged away by his hand before he could change his mind.

\---

Varric's nap was going to have to wait because there was no way anyone was sleeping when Isabela had three fingers deep in Hawke, her mouth on her cunt, and Hawke's own was at work between her legs while Varric reclined in his chair across from them and watched.

Isabela hadn't needed much convincing. When Hawke approached her with a tentative offer once they got back to the Hanged Man, Isabela had dragged them both up the stairs to Varric's room before Hawke could even finish getting all of her words out.

"What's the set up here?" Isabela asked, dark eyes flicking predatorily between Varric and Hawke.

Varric closed and locked the door behind them before walking over to his desk. "Don't mind me, ladies. I'm just an innocent bystander here," he said with a smile. He pulled out his chair and turned it to face the bed before dropping into a relaxed sprawl without taking off so much as his coat or boots.

"While you sit there and we do all the hard work?" Isabela protested. "You mean I don't even get to run my fingers through that glorious chest hair? I knew you were a flirt, Varric. I didn't take you for a tease."

"Sorry, Rivaini. This is Hawke's show."

Hawke put her hands on her hips. "Right. And I'll bet you five sovereigns that you'll have your pants off by the end of this 'show'."

"I'll take that bet," Isabela said with a wicked grin, but Varric shook his head.

"I wouldn't put it past either of you to steal the pants off me in order to win. I've seen both of you pull that trick in a fight before. No bet."

"Damn. He's onto us, kitten," Isabela said to Hawke.

"I suppose it's up to us to make sure he loses his pants the old-fashioned way," Hawke said as she started to remove her coat and loosen the laces to her shirt.

"Not gonna happen, Hawke," Varric said, shaking his head, but he couldn't hide his smile.

Hawke would just have to be really, really convincing. Or, barring that, she could always pretend to trip and spill something onto his lap since he couldn't magic them dry like Anders. Let it be said that Hawke couldn't be devious when the opportunity arose.

"Are you sure about this, Hawke?" Isabela said. "I don't want to be the reason you broke up the band."

"This isn't a marriage proposal, Isabel. The question is: are  _you_  up to the task? I know it's been a while, and I understand if you might need a minute to—mm!"

Isabela kissed like Hawke remembered. She was fierce and all-consuming like a storm, but beneath the surface she was calm and controlled. Isabela's hands danced across her body, removing Hawke's clothing piece by piece until Hawke was fully bared.

Hawke had gotten no further than sliding her hands beneath Isabela's dress to grab at her ass. She toyed with the edges of Isabela's smallclothes, too distracted by the way she sucked on Hawke's tongue like it was a cock. At least Isabela didn't have much to take off. Her outfit was designed for unrestricted movement in a fight, or easy access in a fuck - depending on the situation.

Always prepared for either scenario, her Isabela.

Hawke got with the program and gave Isabela a little push backward without breaking their kiss. She tasted like salt and wine and Hawke was already getting drunk off of her. Isabela clutched at her shoulders with a moan that turned into a startled yelp when the back of her knees hit the edge of the bed and they both went tumbling down.

"Ow! You're spiny," Hawke griped, squirming around so Isabela's arm guard wasn't digging into her chest.

"I should probably lose the daggers before someone loses an eye," Isabela agreed.

"I think you should lose a lot more than just the daggers."

"I think that's a wonderful suggestion, kitten," Isabela said and spread her arms wide in invitation.

Hawke almost didn't know where to start first.

The daggers would definitely have to go, especially since Hawke didn't trust either one of them not to get carried away and forget they were there. Hawke straddled Isabela's waist and unbuckled her harness. She carefully set Bloodletter and Heartbreaker aside on the nightstand. From that point on, undressing Isabela was marked with swears and muffled giggles as Hawke struggled with the many, many buckles of Isabela's thigh-high boots and the tight laces of her corset. Hawke never wore the damn things herself, so she gladly moved aside when Isabela brushed her hands away and finish undressing herself.

Isabela was as gorgeous as she remembered. She had generous breasts and hips, a flat stomach, and thighs that could crush a man's head. The trimmed thatch of hair between her legs was already damp and set Hawke's mouth to watering as she breathed in the spicy scent of her sex. They knelt on the middle of the bed and reached for each other, kissing and exploring with their hands and lips and tongues.

Hawke could only imagine what they looked like intertwined together; Isabela's beautifully dark skin against her own fairer complexion while sleek muscles flexed and slid beneath soft curves. She resisted the urge to look over at Varric to make sure he was paying attention. Part of the thrill was in pretending that she and Isabela were entirely unaware of their audience. That being said, both of them automatically angled their bodies to give Varric the best view. Their hips were fused together, thighs and arms interlocked, but their torsos curved outward before they reconnected again at their mouths.

Hawke reached between them to heft Isabela's dense breasts in her hands while Isabela got her own hands on Hawke's ass and squeezed hard enough to leave marks with her long nails. Hawke wished she'd thought to grab oil. Both of them kneading and massaging and sliding against each other would look as amazing as it felt when they were slicked up and glistening, but Varric would probably bitch about them staining his nice sheets afterward.

Hawke pinched and twisted Isabela's nipples and used the edge of her thumbnails to add a hint of viciousness that she knew Isabela liked. Isabela pulled away to gasp and toss her head back, shaking out tousled black waves and losing her bandana in the process. Hawke took advantage and fisted her hands in Isabela's hair, nipping sharply at the strip of skin just below her jaw and above the edge of her choker. Hawke laughed when Isabela's earring bumped against her nose like a damned gong. She pulled back, only to have Isabela catch her bottom lip between her teeth and tug her back in. Hawke's laughter turned into a moan when Isabela pressed her knee between Hawke's and hitched her up on her thigh.

Hawke heard a rustle of clothing and her eyes snapped to her left without breaking contact with Isabela's mouth. Varric shifted in his chair but hadn't made a move to take anything off or even touch himself. He tipped his palms up with an apologetic grin when he caught her looking, and Hawke's eyes narrowed in challenge. Clearly she and Isabela were going to have to move things along to get the sort of reaction she wanted out of him.

"I think we're boring our audience," Hawke said against Isabela's lips. She grinned when she felt her bristle like a scalded cat. Isabela was just as bad as Hawke was and couldn't resist a challenge, especially to her sexual prowess.

"Any requests, Master Tethras?" Hawke asked, brushing her cheek against Isabela's shoulder as she turned her head to look at him.

"None at all. Believe me, I am plenty entertained. Just keep doing what you're doing, beautiful. Neither of you is capable of being boring."

"Hm…" Hawke glared at Varric's crotch suspiciously. His tunic was in the way, but she thought she detected some stirrings in his nether regions. "What do you think, Bela?"

"I think it's time to show the dwarf how good we are at maths."

The number of the day was, ironically enough, sixty-nine.

Normally, Isabela made a point of being on top, but this time she positioned herself on her back with Hawke kneeling above her, ass facing Varric so he got the full monty. Hawke couldn't see anything except for the wall and Isabela's pussy, and it didn't take a genius to guess which one was more interesting to her. She used her fingers first, refamiliarizing herself with Isabela's wet, slick folds and the clench of her muscles when Hawke slid a finger into her.

On Hawke's other end, Isabela skipped the foreplay and went right for the main course. She put her mouth on Hawke and drove her tongue straight up into her. Hawke let out a hoarse cry and rocked her hips helplessly as Isabela fucked her with her tongue and circled a finger around the twitching ring of her hole. Hawke wasn't going to last long at this rate, so she lowered her head and returned the favor while she still had brain cells left to use. She drilled the tip of her tongue against Isabela's frenulum, just below her clitoris, and fucked her with two fingers until Isabela's hips bucked. She moaned gratifyingly.

"Oh,  _yes_ , kitten. Like that," Isabela pulled her mouth away to purr.

Hawke moaned piteously at the loss. Isabela's hand against Hawke's ass made a solid  _crack_  when it struck her without warning, which only served to make her moan louder and receive another smack to her other cheek.

Hawke had discovered an entire range of kinks after Isabela had once tied her up, stuffed her ass full with a slick plug that tapered at the tip and widened at the base, and proceeded to methodically beat her with a paddle until Hawke couldn't sit down comfortably for a  _week_. What they were doing now was positively vanilla in comparison, but the point wasn't to scare Varric off.

But…if he happened to take away a few tips to store in his arsenal for later, then Hawke wouldn't complain one bit.

They didn't have any fancy plugs or paddles or toys at the moment, but Isabela was a professional at her craft and proved she didn't need any bells or whistles to blow Hawke's mind. Isabela collected the moisture that leaked gratuitously out of Hawke and pressed it against her hole until Hawke opened up around her. She slipped in all the way to her third knuckle and Hawke let out a hoarse cry. She rocked against her hand and her face while Isabela fucked her with that digit and lapped at her almost coquettishly.

Isabela kept her right on the edge without pressing for more, despite Hawke's increasingly desperate urgings. Isabela gathered more lubricant from Hawke's sopping cunt and added another finger, scissoring both in and out of her until Hawke wasn't clamping around her tight enough to cut off her circulation. With practice and time and lots and lots of lube, Isabela had managed to sink her entire fist into Hawke at one point. Hawke was rusty in this particular area now though, and the addition of a third finger stretched her to her limit.

She heard a muffled groan from behind her - as opposed to below. Hawke glanced over her shoulder and saw that Varric had tipped his head back against the chair and closed his eyes. He wasn't even looking at them, but he was rubbing tight, hard circles directly over his cock through his leather trousers, which were straining at the seams.

Isabela pulled her fingers out with an obscene squelch and gave Hawke's ass a wet slap.

"What do you say, sweet thing?" Isabela said. "She's all ready for you."

Hawke pressed her forehead to Isabela's thigh and whined high and needy in the back of her throat. She spread her knees wide and Isabela's hands held her cheeks apart in clear invitation. Hawke had never felt so exposed or so turned on in her life. Her hips worked in vain, fucking against the air and straining for a tongue, fingers, cock – Maker  _anything_  – to fill her before she went out of her mind.

There was only an answering silence while they both waited for Varric's response.

Hawke sobbed when the silence persisted longer than a minute, nearly pushed to the point of begging until she felt a hand that wasn't Isabela's brush over her ass and grip her hip. Hawke was too far gone to crow out her triumph, but Varric didn't immediately start fucking her. Instead, he took his time inspecting Isabela's work. His thumbs traced up and down her crack maddeningly and she nearly shouted at him right before he pressed them inward and spread her apart.

She nearly shouted anyway when he blew a jet of air right over her slick hole, close enough that she felt the scrape of his stubble against her cheek.

" _Varric!_ " Hawke cried, rocking forward, but Isabela clamped an arm around her waist and prevented her from going anywhere.

She felt Isabela's tongue lash her clit the same instant Varric's touched her hole and Hawke  _wailed_  as she came. The force of it shocked her into uncontrollable shivers, moaning and gasping against Isabela's thigh. Hawke's arms started to buckle, but both her lovers held her up, refusing to let her bow out of what she'd started before they were done with her.

"Up, kitten," Isabela said, patting Hawke's side. "As nice as the view is down here, I'd rather not get smacked repeatedly in the forehead by Varric's balls."

Hawke forced herself back up onto her hands and knees and Isabela wiggled out from beneath her. She didn't go very far, though. Isabela turned and reclined against the headboard, languishing on the pillows as she spread her legs wide and gave Hawke an inviting, sultry stare. Hawke dropped onto her elbows and curled her hands around Isabela's thighs, taking the offering hungrily. She licked and sucked on Isabela's tight little pearl until Isabela's thighs clamped around her head. She ground against Hawke's mouth and swore up a storm when Hawke pressed three fingers inside her soaking wet sex without any warning.

Hawke buried herself in Isabela's snatch and didn't come up for air until she felt rough, calloused hands stroke over her ass and the bed dip behind her as Varric finally gave in and joined their little party. Her first orgasm had barely taken the edge off and Hawke was still aching to be fucked for real. She worked frantically at Isabela with her tongue and fingers as if she could find her own salvation through Isabela's mounting release. She moaned, hungry and wanting, but Varric took his time touching her. He refused to be rushed even when she growled and pulled away with a gasp.

"Quit fucking around and fuck me, Varric!"

"You have  _one_  job, Hawke," Isabela ordered. She grabbed her head and shoved her back down.

Hawke didn't do much talking after that.

The pad of Varric's finger grazed against her slit, stroking with barely any pressure at all even when Hawke spread her legs as far as they would go so the lips of her labia parted on their own. Hawke pulled her fingers out of Isabela and sucked them down so deep that she scraped the back of her throat with her fingernails. She was dying for penetration of any kind, especially since she had three fully functional orifices currently being ignored. She was pinned between two lovers without either taking advantage, and it was driving her  _mad_.

She sucked and moaned around her fingers before sliding them back into Isabela. She crooked them up firmly and wrapped her lips around her clit, sucking up and down on the erect nub like it was a tiny cock. Isabela's hips undulated and she nearly tore Hawke's hair out by the roots as she came with a yell.

Varric was still toying with Hawke without actually doing  _anything_ , and she was seriously considering kicking him. Her fingers continued to piston in and out as Isabela came down from her orgasm. Hawke didn't stop or increase her pace, letting Isabela catch up to her until she started moving in counterpoint to Hawke's thrusts again, slowly building herself back up.

Varric rubbed himself against the back of her thigh, smearing precome against her skin and bumping up against his own hand as he stroked her teasingly. She could tell he hadn't taken off all of his clothes, judging by the scrape of leather and linen. Trust Varric to take advantage of any loophole, but if he didn't put his cock somewhere in her within the next twenty seconds she didn't care what kind of sneaky tactics he tried to use.

She was going to rip the pants off him herself.

Hawke growled and released Isabela to reach down between her legs to take care of herself since no one else would. Varric's hand disappeared and reappeared to wrap around her wrist.

"No, Hawke," he chided gently, drawing her hand back up.

He traded off with Isabela, who was more than happy to capture both her hands, forcing Hawke to balance awkwardly on her knees. Varric gripped her hips and rubbed his cock back and forth between her legs. He picked up where his fingers had left off, teasing but not doing much else.

"Fuck you both!" Hawke yelled, twisting in Isabela's grasp and fighting to get away. If they were going to screw around with her without actually screwing her, then Hawke would just go find someone who would.

"Patience is a virtue," Varric said, still so damnably composed.

"I don't think Hawke has been virtuous for quite some time," Isabela said. "Especially not with that mouth."

Hawke refused to take the bait. Isabela was far stronger than she looked and Hawke's shoulders screamed at the pull when she ducked down with her hands still held over her head. She got her teeth on Isabela's inner thigh and bit down  _hard_.

"Ah,  _fuck_ ," Isabela hissed, throwing her head back and bucking her hips.

Hawke bit her again, this time on the crease of her thigh where it met her groin. She left a trail of livid bites across the curve of her hip, her belly, and finally got her teeth around Isabela's navel piercing. She tugged sharply in warning while Isabela weighed the prospects of having Hawke's teeth in such a dangerous place before reluctantly letting her hands go.

Hawke slammed her hands down on the bed and pushed herself up the same time she drove her hips back into Varric's. He scrabbled at her waist to keep from falling off the bed. She reached down between them after he steadied himself and placed the tip of his cock against her tight, slick pucker.

"Hawke…" Varric started, but Hawke's hand tightened around the base of his cock and he cut off with a strangled gasp.

"I swear to Andraste, if you don't fuck my ass right now, Varric, I'm never sleeping with either of you again."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, sweet thing," Isabela said breathlessly. She was watching them now, one hand on her breast and the other between her legs where wet sounds were coming from.

Varric went slowly, but Hawke still had to bite back a hiss at the burn when he started to push inside, not wanting to scare him off. She hadn't done this part in a while - not since Isabela had last used her collection of toys on her. Hawke took deep, steady breaths and forced herself to relax, trying to keep still. She was sweating and squirming, however, by the time Varric was fully seated inside of her after what felt like hours.

She was  _so_  full. His cock up her ass felt completely different from how he fucked her usually, even though the weight and shape of his cock was the same. He gave an experimental thrust and Hawke clenched around him, fisting the sheets as they both hissed.

"Breathe, Hawke," Isabela said soothingly, reaching out to stroke her cheek. She left a streak of wetness that smelled like her and tasted like her when Hawke turned and sucked Isabela's fingers into her mouth. "We've got you, kitten."

Hawke warbled out a grateful moan around her fingers and braced herself when Varric started to move within her, just shallow, rocking motions at first without even fully withdrawing. The pressure ached but the sting was starting to fade as pleasure took its place. There were so many nerve endings down there and Varric was lighting up every single one of them. Isabela pulled her hand back, letting her fingertips press down on Hawke's bottom lip until Hawke's eyes flicked up and caught hers. Isabela refused to look away as she grasped her breast and stroked circles around her dusky brown nipple until it became hard and slicked and peaked.

Hawke groaned low in her throat and leaned up to taste that nipple, forcing Varric to shuffle forward so they didn't lose contact. Hawke licked and sucked and bit at her breast much like she had the rest of her body. She applied just enough blunt force with her teeth to bruise but stopped shy of actually breaking skin before she repeated the action on Isabela's other side.

She lost herself for a long while, moving on autopilot and trying to reconnect her brain to everything that was happening at present, but it was an endeavor doomed to failure. Eventually, she just let go and let it happen. She tried to reach between her legs again, but Varric caught both her wrists and pinned them down to the bed. This position made him drop his full weight onto her and Hawke shouted when his cock pushed the rest of the way inside. She hadn't even realized he'd been holding out on her until then.

"Easy, sweetheart. You can take it…just a little longer…"

"I  _can't_ ," Hawke cried, clawing at the bedsheets and fucking back against him. "Varric, please! I need to come so bad…"

"Shhh. You're doing so well, Hawke. I can't believe how tight and hot you are… I want you to come around my cock. Can you do that for me, beautiful? You're so good... So perfect, my Hawke."

"Ugh. If you two keep that up I might be sick," Isabela said. The disgust in her voice was enough to make Hawke laugh and ease some of the tension winding her up to the breaking point.

"We wouldn't want to inconvenience you, Rivaini," Varric said sarcastically, speaking to her over Hawke's back without stopping or slowing the roll of his hips.

"If this is the kind of weird shit you two get up to in private then I don't know if I want any part of it."

"Well, since you're already here…"

"You're right," Isabela sighed. "I may as well stick it out. But I hope you know what a sacrifice this is for me. Next thing I know, you'll be spouting sonnets and waxing poetic about Hawke's tight little  _rosebud_."

"Isabela?" Hawke panted.

"Yes, sweet thing?"

"… _Shut up_."

"Only if you make me, Hawke."

Hawke didn't know if she had anything left, but then Isabela reached down and spread herself open with her fingers. The sight of her swollen, shiny gland peeking out of its hood made the decision much easier for Hawke. Hawke rubbed her lips against the back of Isabela's knuckles until Isabela moved her hand away and threaded her fingers, still wet with her fluids, through Hawke's hair.

Hawke knew she did that kind of shit on purpose just to make her hair stick up in stupid directions, but it was nothing that wouldn't wash off in the bath later. Hawke sucked the hood of Isabela's clit into her mouth so she wasn't applying direct stimulation to the overtaxed little pearl. Isabela hitched her hips up higher and Hawke released the bit of flesh between her lips with a wet pop before moving her mouth southward.

She grunted when Varric's hips snapped forward without warning, but she braced herself by shoving Isabela's knees up to her chest and holding her legs open by the backs of her thighs. She teased her tongue over Isabela's 'rosebud' until Isabela growled and yanked on her hair so hard the pain brought reflexive tears to her eyes.

"If my girlfriend goes bald because of you, Rivaini…" Varric warned.

"Yeah, yeah. Don't get your knickers in a twist."

Isabela thankfully eased up on her hair but didn't let Hawke get too far away. Saliva ran down her chin as Hawke applied herself to the task at hand with everything she had left, making a mess and not caring. She licked and sucked until her jaw ached. Her nose kept bumping into Isabela's perineum as Varric pounded into her, but this only seemed to excite Isabela more.

Isabela reached down between them, her finger a blur on her clit. Her cries hitched higher and higher until they broke with a triumphant shout with Hawke's tongue shoved halfway up her ass. She clenched around her as she milked every last tremor until she dropped back against the bed with a laugh of breathless delight.

"Oh, that was good," she declared, patting Hawke's cheek affectionately.

Hawke lifted her head and pressed her face against Isabela's soft belly, groaning quietly when Varric's balls slapped against her once, twice, three times before they seized up and he came with his own shout. Hawke didn't wait for either of them to recover. She shoved two fingers inside her poor, neglected sex and brought herself off with a muffled cry before Varric had even fully softened within her.

She slumped with a satisfied sigh, face mashed against Isabela's pubic bone and Varric heavy against her back.

Hawke didn't know what set her off, but all of a sudden she started to giggle. She tried to suppress it by chewing on the skin over Isabela's hip, but then Varric began to chuckle and Isabela snorted out a hoot of laughter, and Hawke was done. It was a vicious cycle; every time they managed to stop laughing long enough to catch their breath, someone would inevitably snicker or say something like "Is Varric a pirate now because he plundered booty?" which would set them off all over again.

Hawke ached all over in the best of ways when she managed to untangle herself and slump on the bed next to Isabela. They dragged Varric down between them after they grabbed and stripped off his tunic. He clung to his pants for "the principle of the thing" even though none of them had anything left to lose at that point.

Hawke curled up against his side with her head tucked against Varric's shoulder and grinned across the broad expanse of Varric's chest to Isabela, who mirrored her position on Varric's other side. Isabela was running her fingers over and over again through his glorious chest hair, all but purring as they basked in the incredibly satisfying afterglow of their first – for Hawke, anyway – successful threesome.

Check one off the bucket list.

Hawke nuzzled Varric's stubbled jaw and scratched her nails lightly up and down his thigh. He hadn't tucked himself back into his pants, so she occasionally brushed against his spent organ, which twitched feebly until Varric caught her hand and laced their fingers together over his stomach.

"This was fun," Isabela said, stretching languorously before propping herself up on an elbow. "I'd suggest going for round two, but I," Isabela leaned over and punctuated the word with a kiss to Varric's cheek, "have an extremely," she hooked her hand around the back of Hawke's neck and dragged her across Varric's chest for a filthy, opened-mouth kiss, "hot date." She finished by nipping at Hawke's swollen lips before pulling away with a wink.

"You have a  _date_? Now?" Hawke said incredulously, gaping at her. Isabela flicked her on the nose like a naughty puppy and Hawke's mouth clicked shut.

"Wait a minute, Rivaini," Varric said, sitting up between them with a slight wince. "Are you saying we were only the warm-up?"

"Don't act so surprised," Isabela said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed and rooting around for her clothing. "I know you're an old married couple now and I'm sure it's past your bedtime anyway. Don't bother to get up – I can let myself out."

Varric and Hawke were left blinking at the door when Isabela grabbed her daggers and breezed out of the room after blowing them a cheery kiss farewell.

"You have any idea who this date of hers is?" Varric asked, still a little shell-shocked as he groped blindly for Hawke.

She cuddled up to him and patted his chest in consolation. She'd felt exactly the same way after the first time she and Isabela screwed each other's brains out, and it really didn't get any less jarring with repetition. "I don't know, but I think she mentioned a moony-eyed sailor down by the docks who she wanted to 'eat up like a baby seal'."

"Poor sod," Varric said with feeling. "For his sake, I hope she clubs him first. I can't believe it. We were just the foreplay. Now I feel cheap and used."

"Welcome to the club," Hawke said, and then paused in consideration. "Actually, I think there  _is_  a club for those Isabela has ridden hard and put away wet. They meet at the Hanged Man every second Thursday of the month. I'm sure you've seen them – they're the ones usually crying into their cups."

"I think you mean 'support group,' Hawke. It definitely sounds like a support group."

"Maybe I should sign us up."

"If you do, try and work around Tuesdays. I have a standing appointment with my Marian Hawke support group."

He pulled her closer and it took Hawke a minute too long to realize that he'd meant  _her_. He laughed when she pummeled him, but caught her wrists and pulled her back down to lay against his chest. His breath eventually evened out as he closed his eyes, exhaustion and long hours finally catching up to him. Hawke thought he had fallen asleep. Her own eyes were starting to slide shut when his voice suddenly startled her.

"So…the Arishok, huh?" Varric said, like he just couldn't help himself.

"Big, horny men turn me on, yes. Is that so hard to believe?"

Hawke found it amusing that he was so baffled by her attraction to Qunari, especially since he hadn't found humans sexually appealing before her. Or so he claimed.

Qunari were walking, shirtless, wet dreams. Hawke's own dreams liked to feature a reoccurring theme that involved being taken prisoner to the Qunari compound. She'd be stripped down, bathed, and oiled like a harem slave and forcibly taken by each and every Qunari before finally being made to service their leader.

Hawke wondered if she could persuade Varric into a bit of roleplaying some time.

"A little, yeah. Humor me," he said, running a hand carefully through her tangled hair. "What is it about the Arishok specifically that does it for you? Is it the horns or the claws or the open contempt…?"

"All the above? It's…it's like an animal attraction, which doesn't make it entirely logical, Varric. You know how much I like things that are bad for me. I kept thinking I missed the fine print somewhere when you came into the picture."

"I can hook you up with some pretty decent lawyers, if that's your biggest concern," Varric chuckled.

"That won't do me any good when I know damn well you have a hand in all their pockets."

"Rumors, Hawke. Filthy, filthy rumors."

Hawke snuggled up to him and played with a lock of his hair. "They're not rumors if they're actually true."

"Those are the best kind of rumors."

"So what's your type, then? I don't imagine it's muscular, shirtless, Qunari overlords? The coincidence would be more than I could bear." Hawke trailed her nails down the side of Varric's neck and chest to trace around his nipple, which pebbled gratifyingly.

"Are you fishing, Hawke? Because I gotta tell you…as far as humans go, you're the only one I've ever given a second thought. Isabela's a knockout and she knows it, but I think I prefer them beautiful  _and_  landlocked."

"Well, obviously you can't be blamed for that," Hawke preened, laughing when Varric pinched her thigh. "But I meant how does your taste run in dwarves? Big breasts? Tattoos? Beards?"

"All the above?" Varric said innocently and laughed when Hawke tackled him.

She propped her arms on his chest and rested her chin on them as she regarded him. "You know… I can't actually recall if I've ever seen a female dwarf before. You've gotta throw me a bone here, Varric. You don't even want to know what I'll start imagining otherwise."

"Crap… I don't know, Hawke. They got the same parts you do, except more compact. Although, I will say I prefer breasts over beards."

"Damn," Hawke said, frowning as she stroked her chin thoughtfully. "I must be  _hideous_  to you then. Guess I better go see if the Arishok will take me back. Maybe I'm more palatable to a different race."

She started to get off him but he caught her up with a low growl that made her come perilously close to giggling when he rolled them over and reversed their previous positions so he was on top and had her securely pinned. Hawke spread her legs so they were a little more comfortable and hugged his hips with her knees.

"You only like me because I'm easy, Varric."

"There is absolutely nothing wrong with that, Hawke."

Hawke's eyes flicked back to his and she regarded him thoughtfully. Not many men would care to hear about their partner's attraction to other people, but Varric shrugged off Hawke's interests as just a matter of fact. Not that she would ever act on those urges without Varric's full and enthusiastic consent, but she really didn't have any desire to be with anyone else. Even hooking up Isabela tonight had been a one-time deal.

Being with Varric was easy. Painfully so. Hawke was the one who made things difficult.

"Is it…" Hawke started and then had to look away from Varric's warm, steady gaze, swallowing hard. She could feel her heart thumping against her ribcage and distractedly pressed a hand to her chest to contain it, only to find Varric's hand already there. He didn't prompt her to continue. Like always, he knew when to push and when to let Hawke come to him in her own time.

"So, theoretically," she began again, tracing the lines and bumps of Varric's fingers while still looking at the wall. "If I said I wanted us to just be…'us'…you would say?"

"I'd say I wouldn't want to be the poor bastard who breaks the news to the Arishok."

"Be serious!" Hawke whipped her head around to slap his side and glare at him.

"I am being serious!" Varric laughed and caught her hand before she could smack him again. "I really am, Hawke. Someone like you…"

His tone transitioned from amused to sincere so smoothly that Hawke almost didn't catch the shift.

"Someone with your heart and personality wouldn't need to be conventionally attractive to be beautiful, Hawke. Honestly, you probably  _could_  have a beard and horns and I'd still be right here. Maybe with an identity crisis or a complex that years of therapy wouldn't even begin to touch, sure, but I'd get over it eventually. I don't know if you've noticed yet, but you're kinda it for me. I mean that."

Hawke's mouth wobbled, caught between wanting to make a joke out his declaration so the air around them wouldn't be so damned  _crushing,_ and wanting to muddle her way through her own confusing mess of feelings to say something half so meaningful.

Instead, she said, "You're not so bad yourself, I guess."

Hawke wanted to kick herself for the way deflection came so automatically to her, but rather than wallow about her stunted emotional growth, her hand curled around Varric's cock, stroking him back to life. "What do you say… Ready to go again? I can't let that damned Isabela show me up."

"You're going to kill me," Varric groaned.

He pressed a hand over his eyes, but left the bottom half of his face exposed so Hawke kissed him.

"Probably. But trust me. It'll be worth it."


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Gore and blood. Mentions of period sex.

Hawke wouldn't necessarily say she'd been taught to be a better soldier in the army. Her skills had certainly been honed in the skirmishes against darkspawn before the bulk of the hoard had invaded and decimated the troops in Ostagar. She didn't follow orders or take being told what to do well, but she played nice with others and generally got along with her superior officers. She at least knew better than to get caught disobeying or breaking regulations outright, even though the shit she got away with drove Carver absolutely up the wall. He'd been too honest and bumbling for his own good, unable to lie convincingly even to their parents to get out of trouble when they were younger.

Hawke liked that while serving under King Cailan the officers didn't try to stuff soldiers into cookie cutter molds. They didn't hand archers and mages swords and put them through drills unsuited to their skill type, instead focusing on finding and utilizing each person's best attributes, even if they were a bit unconventional like Hawke's.

Hawke had been part of a team before, but she hadn't made lasting attachments to anyone in Ferelden like she had since arriving in Kirkwall. Aveline, Isabela, Fenris, Merrill, Varric...she'd die for any one of them without question. She made acquaintances, drinking buddies, and casual fucks easily enough, though her siblings had more often than not been Hawke's only friends in Lothering, and Carver had despised her half the time.

There had been one girl, a red-haired, freckle-faced thing named Millie, whom Hawke had been more than "just friends." Millie had come from a family of farmers descended from generation after generation of farmers in Redcliffe. She picked up a bow when darkspawn started driving wolves and other predators onto their land, which in turn were killing their livestock. She'd enlisted as an archer in King Cailan's army shortly after, supplementing the unit comprised of the infamous Hawke siblings along with an older veteran named Garrund.

Garrund had already served twenty years under Loghain and didn't know anything else except war. His one failed attempt at retirement had led to the type of alcohol consumption that put Hawke's to shame, which in turn led to his wife leaving him, his daughter refusing to speak to him, and a burning desire to reclaim at least part of his glory years before either his liver gave out or the darkspawn took him.

Garrund said Millie reminded him of his daughter; she was all bright-eyed optimism and a gap-toothed smile that made Hawke swear the sun was striking her full in the face even on the most overcast days. Millie had amazing eyes that could shoot a hare from twenty paces off, at night, while hunkered down in a tree with an ill-fitting helmet slipping over her brow every few seconds. Her eyes had been an unassuming green the same shade as moss that grew on trees, but Hawke had thought them warm and pretty, especially when they danced with laughter as they most often had.

Millie had been sweet and joyful. She laughed when she came and even laughed at Carver's terrible jokes, though it was his sister that had caught her eye. She had an effortless way of soothing wounded egos, which had been a Maker-send considering the way Hawke and Carver constantly bickered on top of Garrund's old man crotchetiness, set like a brick in his ways.

She hadn't been the first woman Hawke had been with, though she'd definitely been the first Hawke had ever told about Bethany. Telling Millie that her sister was a mage had - at the time - made their fling seem like it was on its way to being pretty serious.

Millie's younger brother had been taken away to the Circle when he was five. Three fully grown, fully armed templars had torn little Tommie right out of the arms of his crying mother and led him away in cuffs right in front of his family. They never saw or heard from him again and didn't even know which Circle he'd been taken to. Her family had been forced to pretend he never existed. All that remained were the memories and the tears of her mother as she wept over his tiny bed every night. The templars hadn't even allowed him to take his favorite stuffed toy, a one-eyed, scruffy-looking mabari that he never went anywhere without.

Mille had been no bigger a fan of templars than the Hawkes were. She kept the mabari with her as a good luck charm...for all the good it did her in the end.

Millie hadn't died in the battle at Ostagar. A week before the bulk of the fighting, she had been sent out on what was supposed to be a simple scouting mission but hadn't returned by roll call. Millie had always been the one prodding Hawke to get up in the mornings and was achingly punctual, whereas Hawke was chronically late to everything. Their commanding officers hadn't been too concerned with Millie's disappearance, citing bad weather or a temporary delay, or perhaps she got side-tracked wanting to meet the Grey Warden, Duncan, and his new recruits.

Hawke had volunteered herself to go searching that evening and planned on returning before anyone noticed she was gone.

Out of the different types of darkspawn – hurlocks, shrieks, and ogres – the genlocks seemed the most unassuming. They were squat like dwarves with ugly, squashed faces, far too many teeth for their mouths, and short, stumpy legs that meant they didn't move very fast. Like most darkspawn, they wore mismatched armor cobbled together from their victims. Due to their size, they could be difficult to hit at a distance with an arrow or a throwing knife, or easily overlooked.

The first time Hawke had ever seen a genlock up close had been the night she'd gone looking for Millie. She found it hunched over a shapeless form. She mistook the sight for a boulder and a fallen log at first in the fading grey light, until she'd crept close enough to realize the log had an arm outstretched toward where Hawke was hiding behind a clump of bushes.

Four delicate fingers curled up as if beckoning her. The fifth had already been chewed off, as had most of the forearm, but Hawke recognized those fingers. She knew the warmth of them around her wrist when their owner had reflexively reached out to grab her in excitement to point out a new find; she'd felt them in her hair, on her thighs, flexing cleverly inside her while a sweet, gap-toothed grin peeked mischievously up at her over the slope of her belly.

The genlock moved, offering its unexpected witness a perfect view of one moss green eye that stared blankly ahead. It seemed to pierce right past the foliage to where Hawke crouched, frozen and horror-struck. It had taken everything in Hawke not to retch into the bushes and give away her position. The genlock gnashed the other eye between sharpened, spiteful little teeth as it callously tossed aside the arm – Millie's arm – which wasn't even attached to her body anymore.

Millie had been stripped out of her armor, pale skin splattered with dirt and blood and mottled bruising that hid her once-delightful freckles. Hawke had memorized every single one of those tiny marks, knew them better than the night sky's constellations. Millie was missing mouth-sized chunks out of her throat, her breast, her thigh; all of which Hawke had kissed only that morning while Millie had gigglingly protested with half-hearted whispers of, "shhh, your brother will hear!"

In that moment, Hawke forgot all the lessons that had been drilled into her regarding darkspawn: Where there is one darkspawn, there are usually more to follow. Do not ingest or otherwise come into contact with darkspawn blood, as the blight will prove fatal or worse. All female soldiers, regardless of rank or fighting skill, are required to arm themselves with blades no less than three inches long. Do not be taken by the darkspawn alive. Do not engage without back up. Do not engage directly if at all possible. Ranged weapons, such as the staff or bow, are advised when fighting darkspawn.

Millie had been a damned good archer, but a fat lot of good her bow had done laying a mere yard from her outstretched hand snapped in two. Millie's regulation blade was also gone from its sheath, though it hadn't gone far from its owner. The hilt of the knife jutted out from the left side of Millie's chest right over her heart. It took incredible strength to penetrate the breastbone, but an even greater strength of will to do it to oneself.

Sweet Millie, who had loved life and loved Hawke, had taken her own life before the darkspawn had taken her. It was a cold, cold comfort when it still meant she was dead.

Hawke had been overwhelmed by pain and fury and cried out her loss in an incomprehensible roar. The genlock's head snapped up, tendons and viscera caught between its teeth when it bared them in a snarl. It was armored head to toe in metal with its face the only visible part beneath a spiked helm. It spotted Hawke when she abandoned her cover and reached for her daggers.

It swallowed its mouthful and grinned at her, abandoning its meal as it stepped over Millie and lifted a heavy, two-handed axe.

Hawke didn't remember much about the fight, though her subconscious liked to surprise her with crystal-clear snippets in her dreams when she was least expecting them. She remembered the genlock had swung its axe and embedded it a tree trunk when Hawke jumped at the last second. She landed right on the flat of the blade and ran down the shaft, moving on automatic as she lashed out and kicked the genlock in the face with the steel-toed point of her boot. Its head snapped back, helmet flying off as its sunken nose cracked with a spray of blood as it bit through its tongue, though it didn't seem to notice.

It shook its head and bared its bloody, broken teeth at Hawke in a gruesome grin. The genlock ripped its axe out of the tree and Hawke quickly vaulted over its head. She stumbled on the landing and ended up kneeling in the remains of her lover, organs and limbs scattered about the forest floor. Hawke had been transfixed, numb despite the scream building up in her chest. She happened to catch a reflection off one of her daggers and rolled to the side just in time for the genlock's axe to come down, splitting Millie's belly like a melon and spilling out her guts and intestines like the unfurling of a flower's bloom.

The scream tore its way free as Hawke spun and jammed her dagger into the genlock's eye just as it was preparing a second swing. The genlock bellowed, no doubt calling any nearby darkspawn to the area. Hawke yanked the blade out and stabbed it through the genlock's other yellow, bloodshot eye, wanting to make it pay for what it'd done to Millie. She wanted to make it hurt and suffer as Millie had, but the crash of footsteps and growls through the underbrush as at least three more darkspawn approached forced her to abandon her drawn-out revenge.

The genlock didn't deserve the quick death Hawke had given it by slitting its throat. She had no time to take Millie, instead forced to leave her body to be picked off by scavengers. She ran in a flat-out sprint back to camp and didn't stop until she stood outside of the officers' tent, panting and dry heaving. When they managed to calm her down Hawke gave a hollow, dead-eyed report to her lieutenant, not caring if she was reprimanded for abandoning her post. She remembered returning to her and Millie's tent afterward without saying a word to her frantic brother even though Carver had been ready to go off looking for them both.

She curled up on their shared bedroll and buried her face in Millie's stuffed mabari that still smelled like her as she quietly fell apart. There would be nothing to return to Millie's family, only empty apologies, tooth-scarred bones, and a one-eyed mabari a little boy had named Snowflake.

Hawke hadn't had a lover since, just a string of meaningless fucks. She was good at sex. Sex was easy. When feelings got involved, however, was when things went to shit.

In all of Hawke's previous relationships, she'd ended things when either party showed signs of involving feelings in what should have been no-strings-attached fun. Hawke had undoubtedly left a fair share of broken hearts in her wake. Isabela had thankfully been of the same mindset and cut things off when Hawke started keeping more of an eye on her in fights than covering her own ass – a decision Hawke appreciated even if it had stung at the time.

Varric had completely fucked up her process when Hawke hadn't been paying attention. She'd fallen in love with him long before they'd ever had sex and he had blown past every single one of her defenses. They were woven so tightly together that she didn't know where Varric began and she ended sometimes, and that thought terrified her.

He had a ridiculous amount of leverage over, her but never acknowledged that fact or held it against her. Meanwhile, Hawke exploited him shamelessly every chance she got whether it was using him as back up in a fight, taking advantage of his endless connections, his bed, his bath, his company...

There seemed to be no end to what he was willing to give her - up to and including his own life. Hawke knew she should break things off before they became too essential to each other. Better she suffer the pain of a severed limb now and cut her losses than have her heart ripped out of her chest when she finally asked for more than what he was willing to give, or he got himself killed trying to protect her.

Hawke wasn't a good person by any means. Because if she was, she would have let him go by now or at least never found him a way into the Deep Roads where he could end up in the hands of darkspawn.

She hadn't thought about Millie in a long time, but on her way to meet up with Bartrand to bring him the Deep Roads maps, those memories flared anew as if determined to make her second guess her decision to join Varric and Bartrand's expedition. All those months of busting her ass to come up with the money to fund her half, all that time getting to know Varric, falling for him and doing everything in her power to make sure he achieved his dream…

 _Now_ , she was getting cold feet?

Hawke and Varric tracked down Bartrand to Hightown's merchant district, though Hawke never saw him sell any wares. If he was anything like Varric then he probably made his coin from dealing in secrets and politics and questionable connections – the kind of shit that went way over Hawke's head. He was a little friendlier after Hawke had given him fifty sovereigns to fund the expedition, though she still didn't look forward to her interactions with him.

"Still looking for our Deep Roads entrance. Any progress, partner?" Bartrand asked with a smile that looked like it pained him.

"These might be what we need," Hawke said, reaching into her borrowed coat pocket and showing him the maps that Anders had given her. She thought Bartrand's pale eyes would bug out of his head.

"What's this? Three...four entrances into the Deep Roads, all in the Free Marches?" he said while scanning the parchment rapidly. "Where did you get these?"

"A little birdy told us," Hawke said smugly.

"You got the feather part right, at least," Varric said before he answered Bartrand. "Didn't I tell you we could find a Grey Warden? Mother didn't raise a fool. Well...she didn't raise two of them."

"Well, color me astounded! We just pick the most promising one and go!" Bartrand paced back and forth like he couldn't contain his excitement. He quickly collected himself and told Hawke, "Time to wrap up any business you have in the city, my friend. We'll be gone for several weeks at least."

"I have a few things I need to take care of first, but I should be ready to go in a few days."

"Perfect. That'll give me time to send out scouts and get the wagons ready. Let me know as soon as you're ready and we'll head out."

"I can't believe we're really doing this," Varric breathed out, shaking his head in awe as they left Bartrand to his preparations while they did some of their own. "Bartrand and I have been planning this expedition for years. It's hard to believe we're actually going through with it. And it's all thanks to you, Hawke."

"Don't thank me yet. Who knows what we'll find down there - if there's anything  _to_  find, other than darkspawn and a whole bunch of rocks."

"There's only a brief window after a Blight when the Deep Roads won't be crawling with darkspawn. If we time things right it won't be anything more than me, you, and about a dozen or so of Bartrand's hired hands can't handle. The treasure we find down there could set you and your family up for life."

"And I suppose you're only going for the scenery?"

"I can't let the head of my house go into the Deep Roads alone. Someone's got to watch Bartrand's back and if I happen to take a little profit back with me... Well, I am a businessman, after all."

"All right, businessman. Let's see if you can get me a good deal on some new equipment since you apparently burned or auctioned off my last set of armor."

Hawke was growing rather fond of Varric's too big, too short coat despite how ridiculous it looked on her and how handsome it looked on him. If she ever borrowed one of his tunics the deep 'v' of his collar would likely leave most of her chest exposed and dip down to her navel. Which was a thought…

"Sweetheart, you don't even want to know what the state of your armor was by the time we finally got you to Anders. Trust me. I did you a favor by getting rid of it."

"Did I piss myself when I was unconscious or something?"

"Or something…" Varric said so elusively that Hawke gave an outraged shout and tried to smack him as he ducked away laughing.

Petrice's money was burning a hole in her pocket and Hawke had quite a bit shopping to do in the market. They stopped at an armorer's stall first to get her fitted for new gear since leathers would take the longest to have adjusted or custom-made, and they would be the most expensive purchase. She also put in an order for new boots and a thigh holster for her throwing knives, which she'd come pick up in a couple days.

She was left with two whole sovereigns so Hawke also bought a few things she'd been desperately needing such as oil cloths, trousers, shirts, socks, and a new injury kit since she'd bled all over the last one. Caught up in the rush of having a heavy coin purse, she also splurged on mabari treats, a small jade hairpin for Bethany as a belated birthday gift, and – to Varric's instant delight – new underthings for herself as well. She set him loose upon a poor young woman selling intimates and perfumes and he'd come back with an armful of lace and silk and the most self-satisfied grin she had ever seen.

The fact that the woman probably thought him an enormous pervert put a grin on  _Hawke's_  face. Or at least until she finally counted the remaining contents of her coin purse. The seven gold sovereigns Hawke received for smuggling Ketojan out to the Wounded Coast had been in her possession for less than a day and evaporated like mist. She only had forty-five silvers left to her name and wished she had curbed Varric's last spending spree a bit, even though she owed him more than she could ever repay.

It had been worth it to put that smile on his face.

Her last stop was at the herbalist, Solivitus' stall. Hawke had been meaning to stock up on elfroot and stamina draughts, but the state of her coin purse rearranged her priorities. Usually, Sol had a few jobs for her and she should have time to collect a few ingredients for as long as it wasn't something obscure. It would just be her luck if he needed a flower that could only be found in an ancient elvhen graveyard under the light of a half moon on the third Wednesday of the month or some shit like that. Hawke had enough of arcane horrors from her last visit to a gravesite to last her a lifetime.

"I'm not currently running low on ingredients, Serah Hawke, but if you happen to find yourself in Sundermount I've been dying to get my hands on some ironbark," Solivitus said after they exchanged greetings. "I heard it's nearly impossible to get the Dalish to part with any, which is unfortunate. But other than that, what can I do for you?"

"Actually," Hawke said, scratching at the flaking kaddis on the bridge of her nose that she would also have to buy more of soon. "I came for, uh…a refill? Of my last order? Enough to last a couple months, at least."

Hawke had to restrain herself from blushing when Sol uttered a soft, surprised "oh!" and gave Hawke's curious companion an inappropriately thrilled smile. Sol went about bottling up the potion for her without any further explanation needed. Hawke thought she would escape free and clear without having to answer any awkward questions…until Sol came back with her purchase and cleared his throat with a very firm expression in place.

"Now remember, serah. For the potion to be effective, you need only add a few drops to your tea in the morning. If you forget, then a dose right before sexual intercourse will be sufficient in order to prevent unwanted pregnancies. You may experience slight cramping or irregular cycles at first, but birthbane is safe for long-term use. And if you decide you and your gentleman ever wish to conceive, then simply cease taking the potion. If you or Master Tethras have any questions or concerns, I would be more than happy to answer them for you."

Varric froze. Hawke's face went scarlet as she desperately tried to look anywhere else except at him.

"On second thought," she said, voice pinched. "Do you have any deathroot or nightshade instead? Anything that will kill me quickly. Preferably now."

"I…don't understand?" Solivitus said with an uncertain smile.

"Ignore her, Sol. We're good here." Varric shook himself off and stepped in smoothly, reaching for his coin purse before Hawke could. "How much will it be? It's only fair since she's taking it for my sake."

"Truly a noble gesture, serah! That'll be fifty silvers."

The price was exorbitant but considering the high demand, especially for young noblewomen in Hightown, Hawke really couldn't fault Sol for his markups. She would've had to haggle him down at any rate or tried to make due with a limited supply. Her stomach twinged, wondering how she was going to afford to buy this stuff regularly.

Despite what Varric said about the birthbane being for his benefit, she didn't feel right letting him buy it for her. Hawke's body was her own, as was made very apparent to her only that morning by the inconvenient start of her monthly cycle. She thanked the Maker Varric had utterly ridiculous red silk sheets which needed to be laundered anyway after their night with Isabela. She didn't think he had noticed, but Hawke had been mortified.

She made an excuse of being sore from the previous night when she wriggled out of his sleepy embrace, complete with morning wood poking her in the small of her back. Fortunately, Isabela had extra strips of linen for such occasions in her room and hadn't returned from her "date" yet. Hawke had been able to slip out before Varric was fully awake, clean up, and get the situation handled without having to run all the way to Gamlen's with everyone knowing her business.

At least she knew for certain she wasn't pregnant. The point was to keep it that way.

"I will get this packaged for you right away, serah," Sol said, smile back in full force as Varric handed the money over. "Please come visit again for any of your apothecary needs. And don't forget the ironbark!"

"Not. One. Word," Hawke grit out through her teeth as she snatched the potion and all but ran away from Sol's stall. Varric was right on her heels despite his short legs and the ridiculous amount of bags he was carrying with Hawke's other purchases.

"Not a one!" Varric promised and lied in the same breath. His face was red and his shoulders shook with the effort not to laugh out loud.

"I'm glad this is so entertaining for you," Hawke snapped, stopping and turning on him so abruptly that he bumped into her and lost his grip on the bags, including the one bursting with her new underthings. At least Hawke had been holding the birthbane potion when he dropped everything else, but lacy smallclothes and brassieres exploded all over the ground, cementing her mortification as passersby gawked at the spectacle.

"Perhaps I should castrate you myself and save us both the trouble," she growled, feeling perilously close to tears as he stood there staring stupidly at her with her now dirtied personals at their feet.

She felt justifiably raw and brittle at the moment and couldn't stand the thought of him making fun of her for this. She already wasn't the greatest at remembering to take the potion consistently, which was one more thing to worry about on top of a giant pile of other shit. She hadn't exactly needed to take birthbane before she and Varric had started fucking, and Isabela wasn't likely to get her knocked up. It took everything in Hawke not to pull away and start walking again when Varric sobered up instantly and reached out to touch her arm.

"I'm sorry, Hawke. I promise I wasn't making fun of you. It's just so rare to catch you flat-footed… I wasn't even thinking about anything else," he said, ducking his chin to look up at her. "I know things have been moving pretty fast between us and we haven't exactly gotten a chance to discuss…certain things."

"Can we not?" she begged, heart stutter-stopping in her chest. "At least…not right now."

She and Varric had pretty much established they were in this for the long haul and willing to be exclusive, but actually  _talking_  about their future together was another matter entirely. She always figured she'd get married and have children eventually, but that was more of an abstract idea pushed on her by her mother and Bethany. A working pair of ovaries didn't exactly make one suitable for motherhood – as anyone not related to Hawke, and therefore biased, could attest.

"Are you staying over tonight?" he asked uncertainly as he knelt to begin stuffing items back in their bags.

She couldn't blame him for his hesitation, especially after he'd bought her ridiculously skimpy and highly impractical underthings, as well as enough birthbane to fossilize a bronto's womb. It was too bad Hawke's womb alternately wanted to punch things and eat everything in sight.

"Sorry, but I'll be at home this week bleeding out and avoiding blood mages before any catch me in a dark alley and decide to use me in a ritual."

"Wait, what?" Varric said, complete with a double-take as he dropped the bags and stood up, grabbing her wrists to check her over. "Bleeding out? Are you hurt? Do we need to go back to Anders?"

"You can't be this obtuse," Hawke groaned. Surely, he wasn't going to make her spell it out for him.

"Hey," Varric said, sounding wounded. "Sorry if I missed the memo on you  _bleeding to death_. What the fuck, Hawke?"

Hawke laughed a sharp, pitchy sound that made Varric look even more concerned. He really was going to make her say it.

"It's  _that_  time of the month, Varric. I'm sorry if it  _inconveniences_  your plans for tonight, but Lady Labia is out of commission until further notice. You'll just have to make your reservations with Messere Five-Fingers."

Hawke was expecting Varric to blanch or pull away or make declarations of disgust. She was used to dealing with guys who had the maturity level of a mongoose, which honestly wasn't much better than her own. After their father died, Carver had been the only male in a household of women whose cycles had fallen around different times of the month. Hawke really couldn't blame her brother for being bitter, especially when he'd never been able to anticipate when she, Bethany, or Leandra would snap or burst into tears at any moment. He'd probably gotten so good at swordwork because he spent more time outside hacking away at trees with his practice sword than at home dealing with three hormonal Hawke women. It was no wonder Gamlen was always out getting drunk at the Rose.

"Is that all?" Varric said, relaxing. "Sweetheart, after all the blood we've spilled you can't seriously think I care about that. I mean, if you don't want to that's fine. But don't keep yourself from orgasms on my account."

Hawke stared at him. "You can't possibly be that hard up."

"Well, we  _are_  in Hightown," Varric cracked, but cleared his throat when Hawke narrowed her eyes. "Hawke, I can do math. One week out of four each month is a pretty good bet it'd come up sooner or later. The whole..." he gestured toward her hips, "lady bits and all they involve aren't exactly new to me. All I'm saying is I don't mind a little blood if you don't."

"It's not just a little blood, Varric. It's a fucking  _massacre_  in my pants. I probably ruined one pair of your sheets already."

Hawke didn't have that much blood to spare to begin with and she could already tell she was going to be poor company. As big an ass Varric could be sometimes, he didn't deserve to have her bite his head off for no reason, especially when she'd usually be laughing and joking right alongside with him.

"I don't know if you remember or not, since it was so long ago, but we somehow used to manage hanging out together before sex was even an option. But if you're not feeling up to it, then I completely understand. At least let me help you bring all this stuff back to Gamlen's and then I'll get out of your hair. You won't ever hurt my feelings if you decide you need space for a while, sweetheart."

She flushed, hating the way he could make her feel like a complete asshole with only a look or a few words. Not that she couldn't make herself feel like a complete asshole all on her own. Logically, she knew having sex every day wouldn't be sustainable even before the shiny lacquer on their brand new relationship faded; however, when she stayed late into the evening at the Hanged Man it was pretty much a given that she would be going to bed with him. Even though they'd been together more often than not over the past year, Varric still had his own life. Sometimes Hawke would go days or even weeks without seeing him, but that never stopped them from picking up right where they'd left off whenever they did manage to meet up again.

"I should probably spend time with my family before we leave with Bartrand. I don't even know how long we'll be gone, and if anything happens while we're down there…" Hawke said reluctantly.

Varric raised his hand, eyes soft with understanding. "Say no more. It's not fair of me to monopolize you all the time, even though there's nothing that I'd love more than to spend every day with you. I'm sure Leandra and Sunshine miss you. Actually, it's probably a good idea to give them a heads up since, knowing Bartrand, we'll be leaving sooner rather than later."

Hawke bit her lip to avoid responding and ducked down to help him collect their scattered merchandise. She  _wanted_  Varric to keep her. She didn't want to go back to Gamlen's cold, unwelcoming house and her creaky old bunk bed. She wasn't looking forward to arguing with Leandra or enduring Bethany's sad eyes and pleas to let her help, even though she was barely back on her feet from the last time Hawke had let her come along on a job.

Varric, in his role as best boyfriend ever, sprung and bought her the cinnamon and butter pastries Hawke had been craving for what felt like forever. Which, in hindsight, was probably a good indicator that her cycle had been due to start. He only teased her a little for inhaling four out of the dozen pastries before they'd even left Hightown, arms laden with their purchases. Hawke was the thinnest she'd ever been after subsiding on a mostly liquid diet for so long. She half suspected Varric was making it his personal mission to fatten her up before the Deep Roads expedition. They were going to have to take all of their provisions with them due to the risk of contracting the blight from eating anything they found down there.

They made it back to the slums unaccosted and sat on the steps outside of Gamlen's to enjoy the rest of their pastries. Hawke could hear Snowflake whining pitifully from inside the house, but she had absolutely no sympathy for the chunky beast despite having bought him treats of his own. She knew better than to let him out when there was food of any kind around.

Hawke switched to eating with her left hand when Varric intertwined his honey-sticky fingers with her own. She had trained herself to be ambidextrous once she started wielding dual daggers, though her handwriting with either hand literally wasn't anything to write home about. In fact, her penmanship seemed to physically pain Varric whenever he had to decipher her writing, so he would be sorely disappointed if he was expecting to receive love letters from her anytime soon.

"Serah Hawke?"

A gangly scrap of a boy appeared before Hawke as if that thought had summoned him, holding out a letter to her in his grubby hands. If it was an actual love letter from a secret admirer, Hawke was going to enjoy reading it out loud at an inappropriately loud volume for Varric's benefit.

"That's me."

"I've a letter for ye."

The boy passed the envelope over to Hawke, who took it and flipped it over to inspect the wax seal on the back, which wasn't one she recognized.

"Who's that from?" Varric asked.

"Dunno, Messere. I'm just the messenger."

Hawke shrugged. "It's probably from one of my many secret admirers. I'll toss it in the pile with the dozen or so others I've gotten this week."

The boy didn't leave right away, eyeing the bag of pastries sitting between Hawke and Varric hopefully. Varric had purchased the promised sacks of rice along with flour and barley for Anders' Darktown urchins. The food had been delivered to Lurine's Fereldan Imports since Lurine was the one who had connected them to Anders in the first place. She would probably know best how to distribute the supplies so it reached the right people.

Even so, Hawke watched balefully as her hand lifted of its own accord and passed the bag over to the boy, who took it and disappeared before she could change her mind. She sighed before returning to the envelope and breaking the seal.

" _I understand you're in dire need of some coin. If that's true, I believe I have a proposition that you simply will not be able to refuse. Look for me at night near the foundries in Lowtown._

— _Dougal_ "

Hawke clenched her jaw and stared at the letter.

She had no idea who Dougal was or why he felt the need to contact her, even if he did know how to use the word 'proposition' correctly. Was she really so hard up that even complete strangers noticed and felt the need to say something? Offering her a job based on her skills or reputation was one thing, especially since nothing came for free in this city, but Hawke questioned the legitimacy of the sender especially if he wanted to meet in Lowtown's foundries at night.

If she hadn't managed to pull the money together for Bartrand's expedition already, then she might have been desperate enough to investigate. Though, a part of her was tempted to see what Dougal had to say for himself. The expedition would be much more comfortable with a little extra coin and it would also ensure Leandra and Bethany had enough to survive on for a while.

Maker…she hadn't even thought of that.

Bethany could find work easily enough with her own reputation - as long as she kept her magic under wraps and managed to evade templar scrutiny. Already too many people knew she was a mage from when they'd been working for Meeran, and the Red Iron no longer offered their protection ever since the Hawke sisters' contract had ended. She let Varric pry the letter from her fingers and then clasped her hands between her knees tightly, staring off into the distance with the muscle in her jaw jumping.

"Well," he said after skimming the letter and then taking his time with the second read through, "at least your admirer's offering to pay you for your services. Mine threaten me with bodily harm if I miss my writing deadlines."

"Do you have any idea who this guy is?"

"Actually, I do. Dougal's one of my dear brother's ex-partners. They had a falling out when Bartrand refused to let him invest in the expedition. I thought he'd been run out of town, but it appears Dougal is more ambitious than I gave him credit for especially if he's seeking you out as a means to get in on the venture."

Well, at least that ruled out the possibility of Hawke being a charity case, which lowered her hackles somewhat. "Do you trust him?"

"Hard to say. Dougal's never done me any harm, but he's as sour a bastard as my brother without the family connection to make it easier to swallow. Do what you like, Hawke. I came to you, not to him."

"So that line about you preferring breasts over beards...?"

"All true," he swore, resting a hand over his heart with a grin. "Believe me, if you saw Dougal you'd have picked you over him, too."

"That's too bad, Varric. You might have missed out on meeting your soulmate, if only you didn't have standards."

"I'd say I have pretty high standards, Hawke."

"And I feel like I'm only setting you up for a terribly cheesy line, so I'm going to cut you off right there."

"Are you sure? I had a really good one lined up. Something about your eyes being like bumblebees flying into the window of my soul."

"I can't believe you! You stole that from a drunk who tried to hit on Isabela at the Hanged Man. If you're going to attempt to woo me, at least be original. You can't have gotten this comfortable in our relationship already, Varric."

"I'd like to see you do any better. If you wanted romance on the fly then I'm afraid you picked the wrong dwarf."

"Hm. Maybe I  _should_  go see Dougal after all..."

Varric crumpled up the letter in his hands before tossing it over his shoulder.

"You don't need a guy like that. You funded your half of the expedition all on your own, Hawke. The one thing I can say about Dougal is that he knows how to grab an opportunity when he sees one. I'm not surprised in the least that he considers you to be a good investment."

"And I thought you said you weren't a romantic," Hawke teased when Varric claimed her hand back for himself and kissed the honey from her fingertips.

"You must have misheard. You should see the piles of love letters I have back in my room. I hide them in a trunk so you don't weep with jealousy."

His eyes flashed with wicked humor as he glanced up from her hand, lips curved in a smile that made Hawke want to bite him or kiss him breathless. She was actually considering taking him up on his offer from earlier if he really meant it about not minding a bit of blood. That thought was put on screeching hold when the front door to Gamlen's opened and Snowflake came barreling out.

"Snowflake! No!"

Hawke and Varric broke apart with twin exclamations of disgust when the mabari slurped both of their faces in greeting before perking up and diving right into the shopping bags they had set aside. He stuck his head through the handle of one of the bags and was crunching on his treats when Hawke tried to lunge for him. Snowflake yipped and darted out of her grasp, bolting down the street with the bag full of Hawke's undergarments wrapped around his neck as a trail of smallclothes and brassieres streamed out behind him.

"Oh, Maker, Marian! I am so sorry!" Bethany as she came running out of the house, her hands pressed to her face as the three of them watched Snowflake fade into the distance, along with Hawke's unmentionables. "He was whining at the door so I thought he needed to relieve himself. I didn't realize you'd gotten back."

"Hi, Sunshine," Varric said, trying and failing to hide his laughter even when Hawke jabbed him with her elbow. "You're looking much better."

"Hello, Varric. I am feeling much better. I didn't get a chance to thank you for the party the other day, but it was incredibly thoughtful of you."

"Think nothing of it. I'm glad you enjoyed yourself."

"I'm sorry again for Snowflake. I hope whatever he took wasn't terribly import—" Bethany bent to pick up a scrap of cloth from the ground and froze with a pair of lacy red knickers held between her hands. Her cheeks colored to match once she realized what they were. "…Oh dear."

Hawke could see the tumblers falling into place as Bethany glanced between Hawke and Varric with dawning realization. Hawke reached up to snatch the smalls out of her sister's hands and stuff them down her shirt – for all the good that did her when the rest of her knickers were now probably scattered all over Lowtown.

Either Isabela or a bunch of lonely, perverted men were going to think they'd won the lottery that day.

"Don't say it, Bethy," Hawke groaned, but it was too late.

"Sister! You and Varric!" Bethany had a smile that threatened to split her face and pressed her hands to her cheeks, which were now a soft, delighted pink.

"Well, I guess the cat's out of the bag. Or the mabari is," Varric said, not looking upset at being found out in the slightest. In fact, he reached out to take Hawke's hand in between his own and said in a very serious tone to Bethany, "I think you're old enough now that we can tell you, Sunshine. You should know that your sister and I care very deeply for each other and I—"

"Oh, fuck off!" Hawke yelped, laughing despite herself as she yanked her hand away and slapped it over his mouth, her own cheeks hot enough to burn. "You are so full of shit!"

"So…you're not together then?" Bethany said, sounding so honestly disappointed that Hawke's hand dropped away as she stared at her. "I don't mean to stick my nose in, but it's just that he makes you so happy, Marian. Ever since Carver told me about Millie, I had worried that…well. Never mind. It's silly."

"Please share with the class, Sunshine. No, really," Varric said when Bethany started to protest.

He captured Hawke's hand again like the shameless rogue he was, but she didn't have the heart to pull away this time. She was more than done with hiding and Bethany only ever wanted what was best for others.

Bethany looked between them a moment before giving in. She sat down on the step next to Hawke and took her other hand so that she was now pinned in by Varric and Bethany on either side of her. Hawke was seriously choking down some fight or flight instincts, but her resolve weakened when Bethany rested her cheek against Hawke's shoulder and Varric scooted in close enough that their thighs brushed.

"You deserve to be happy more than anyone else I know, sister," Bethany said softly, her breath warm against Hawke's collarbone. "I know you've never believed it, but you couldn't be more wrong."

"See, Hawke. That's what I've been saying all along. Maybe coming from Sunshine you'll actually listen."

Bethany picked her head up and glared at Varric from across Hawke. "You  _will_  take care of my sister." It was very clearly a threat and not a request.

"I swear on my mother's grave, Sunshine," Varric said solemnly, drawing a cross over his heart with a finger.

"I have no idea what either of you is talking about," Hawke said, trying and failing at indifference.

"What are you three up to?" Gamlen demanded. Hawke hadn't seen him coming up the street but he scowled at Bethany, Hawke, and Varric blocking the stairs to his house. "Never mind. I don't want to know."

Oddly enough, his scowl vanished as he tromped up the stairs. He had his hands in his pockets and actually started whistling. Hawke really, really didn't want to know, especially since he'd probably just come from the Blooming Rose. Still, she couldn't help but ask, "What's got you in such a good mood?"

Gamlen looked around them as if concerned that he might be overheard. "Not that it's any of  _your_  business," he said, clearly bursting to tell someone his news, "but I recently came into possession of a lady's…favor."

"A what?" Hawke blinked in confusion.

Gamlen's scowl returned. Impatiently, he snatched his hand out of his pocket and waved a scrap of brightly-colored fabric in her face. It took Hawke way too long to realize it was a pair of  _her_  smalls in Gamlen's hand. Varric made a sound like he was dying but covered it up behind a fit of coughs.

"Right?" Gamlen said smugly, mistaking Varric's reaction. "Now, if you three have nothing better to do than loiter on my doorstep..."

Hawke and Varric leaned apart so Gamlen could step between them, but Bethany was wrapped around her arm, silently having fits. Hawke was already going to have to scrub her brain, but then Gamlen raised the knickers to his nose, breathing in deeply, and she realized she was going to have to set her brain on  _fire._  She muffled a gag and even Varric looked slightly green.

Gamlen shut the front door behind him and the three of them sat in shock for several minutes, trying and failing not to imagine what Gamlen might be doing - unknowingly - to a pair of his niece's smalls.

"I'm not going to be the one to tell him," Bethany whispered into Hawke's shoulder with a horrified giggle, breaking the silence.

"Not it!" Varric seconded, touching a finger to the tip of his nose.

Hawke groaned. "There is no bloody way I'm bringing it up either. I am going to have to give myself a lobotomy now."

"On the bright side, you didn't actually wear them?" Varric said.

"Well, I'm definitely not now."

"… _Damn_ ," Varric sighed, his mirth fading all at once.

"You two are so adorable!" Bethany exclaimed breathlessly, reaching out to squeeze Hawke and Varric's hands. She was so honestly happy for them that Hawke didn't have the heart to protest.

When Bethany let their hands go and sat back, Hawke slung her arms around their shoulders and pulled them in closer. Bethany cuddled up happily and Hawke turned her head to press her lips against Bethany's soft, sweet-smelling hair. Varric rested his hand on Hawke's thigh and leaned against her, his thumb stroking gentle circles along the side of her knee. Hawke closed her eyes and lifted her face toward the sky. She wished she could capture this moment and pull it out whenever she forgot what – or who - she was doing this all for.

Everything would change with the Deep Roads expedition. How could it not? Hawke would either find her fortune or her death down there, and only the Maker knew which one it would be.

They sat on the steps until tiny pinpricks of light appeared in the distance as the lantern boys started making their rounds as evening approached. Snowflake came trotting back around dinnertime however many hours later. He was missing the bag but had a pair of Hawke's smalls tangled around his head. All Hawke could see was his snout, one eye, and one of his pointed ears that stuck out through a leg hole. Hawke was tempted to leave him that way, but his pitiful whimpers broke Bethany first and she reached out to tug the garment off his head.

"Do you want these back?"

"No," Hawke said at the same time Varric said, "Yes!"

Hawke looked at him askance. "I don't even want to know where these ones have been. If you want them so badly, then  _you_  wear them."

"Fine," Varric said, taking the scrap of silky blue cloth from Bethany. "Then I will."

Bethany and Hawke stared at him. Hawke's brain went to a completely different place than it had when Gamlen walked off with another pair. She cocked her head and said, "Huh," considering him.

"No way, Hawke. You're the one who said…how'd you put it? I'm stuck with Messere Five-Fingers the rest of this week."

"I did say that, didn't I?" Hawke groaned. "Is it too late to take it back?"

"Yep," he said, leaning in to kiss her cheek. "Besides, isn't there  _something_  you need to discuss with Sunshine?"

"What? She already knows we're together."

Hawke was more than happy to play dumb, but at his look she relented. It wasn't as if Bethany wouldn't find out about the expedition sooner or later. "Fine. Andraste's ass, you're pushy."

"You love it."

Varric kissed her again, except on the lips that time which made Bethany sigh and Hawke flush when he pulled back with a smug, rakish grin. Hawke shoved him away with a scowl. "All right. Get out of here, dwarf."

"Ladies. Snowflake. Take care," Varric said.

"We will. You too, Varric," Bethany said with a little wave as Snowflake let his tongue hang out in a happy grin.

Varric winked at them and started whistling as he all but skipped down the stairs, one hand in his pocket and the other twirling the blue knickers around on a finger. Hawke groaned, shaking her head.

"Forget everything I said earlier, Bethany. Clearly, I have terrible taste in men."

Hawke leaned back, resting against Snowflake who walked around to lie down behind them with his head on his paws. The bags with the rest of her purchases were all over the place but she didn't really care as long as the potion Varric had bought for her was still intact. She couldn't afford to buy more on short notice. She rustled around in one of the bags and found the jade hairpin that she had bought for Bethany.

"What's this for? You already got me a birthday present," Bethany said when Hawke held the gift out to her. She flicked the end of her red scarf but let Hawke put the pin in her hair and flushed with pleasure.

"Varric got you that. I…forgot," Hawke admitted with a cringe.

To her relief, Bethany just laughed. "I suspected as much. I think this was the first year you didn't get me socks. I was a little disappointed, actually. But I don't blame you for forgetting, especially when you've had so many other things on your mind. These past two years have been…"

Millie's death. Fleeing Lothering. Carver's death. Working for Meeran. Coming up with funds for the expedition. Keeping Bethany safe.

"…Yeah."

"So what was it you needed to tell me?"

After coming clean about Bethany's birthday present, Hawke hoped it might ease the shock when she said, "Varric and I took Anders' maps to Bartrand today. We leave for the Deep Roads in a few days."

Bethany perked up, eyes wide. "That's so soon! Oh Maker, I haven't even packed yet. What should I—"

"You're not coming, Bethy. And neither is Snowflake. I can't risk either of you with the darkspawn." Both Bethany and Snowflake made the same whine of protest, but Hawke held up her hand, not willing to be moved by either of them. "It's not just you. I won't be taking Merrill, Aveline, or Isabela either."

"You've never believed in gender roles, Marian," Bethany said angrily. "What is this really about?"

"Darkspawn are...well. You saw what they did to Aveline's husband. And to Carver. Compared to what they do to women of a childbearing age, their deaths were a mercy. I'm not about to put you or the others in that kind of danger."

"But you'll risk yourself?"

"I know what's at stake, Bethany. I'm willing to take those risks if it means we can have the kind of life Mother and Father always wanted for us. I'm tired of having to depend on Gamlen or people like Meeran for anything. We  _deserve_  so much better," Hawke said, taking Bethany's hands in her own.

"Getting back the estate for Mother is just as much your responsibility as it is mine," Bethany said.

"I need you to stay here and take care of her and Gamlen. Don't worry, Bethy. I'll be back before you even notice I'm gone."

"I doubt that," Bethany said, tears in her eyes as she pulled Hawke into a hard hug and whispered in her ear. "Be  _careful_ , Marian. You're my favorite sister, after all."

"I'm your only sister," she protested but hugged Bethany tighter. When she finally pulled back she leveled a stern finger at Snowflake. "You take care of her, understand? Eat as many templars as you need to-"

"Marian!"

"Just kidding," Hawke laughed, but the second Bethany looked away she growled under her breath. "I am  _not_  kidding, Snowflake. You'd better be pooping templar livers by the time I get back if anyone comes after her."

Snowflake barked twice and hunkered down like he was going to pounce, wiggling his hind end.

"Good boy."

They went inside with Hawke's bags and she started putting together her pack while Bethany 'helped' – which more or less involved her sitting on their bunk and handing things over to Hawke from her trunk while looking mulish.

"Oh! What's this?" Bethany said, pulling out the sock that Hawke had stuffed with the necklace Varric gave her. "My missing birthday present after all?"

Hawke snatched it out of her hands, heart pounding. Bethany looked startled and then hurt. Hawke grimaced at her own automatic reaction and reluctantly handed the sock back to Bethany.

"Varric…ah…gave me that. On your birthday, actually."

"I'd wondered what took you two so long in here," Bethany teased. "Now I know you—oh Maker, Marian!"

Bethany opened the box and stared down at the necklace, utterly dumbfounded. Hawke peeked at it and winced. It looked even  _more_  opulent then the last time she saw it, if that was even possible. She didn't know what Varric had been thinking. Hawke couldn't be trusted to keep track of her own knickers, much less a priceless family heirloom.

"He said it didn't match his eyes," Hawke said off-handedly as she glanced away, but she wasn't fooling either of them.

"May I?"

"Knock yourself out."

Bethany lifted the necklace out carefully and watched in awe as candlelight fractured off the sapphires, casting dancing lights over her face. "This is beautiful," she breathed, as if speaking above a whisper would turn the damn thing into dust. "It looks really old, too."

"He didn't say where he'd gotten it, but I assume it's probably been in his family for a while."

"Marian!" Bethany exclaimed. "This is… This is serious, isn't it? You and Varric?"

"He didn't propose, if that's what you're thinking," Hawke scoffed.

Bethany set the necklace back down carefully in the box, smoothing out the links before closing the lid and looking at her keenly. "Are you certain about that? This isn't something you give a friend just because, even if you are sleeping together."

"Andraste's ass, Bethany. Quit reading into it." Hawke snatched the box away and stuffed it back into the sock before tossing it – carefully – into the trunk. "It was a gift. Or, knowing Varric, a very expensive prank just to get me riled up."

"It seems to have worked, sister."

"Are you helping me pack or what?"

Hawke refused to speak any more about it, but her eyes keep darting back to the trunk so many times that Bethany heaved an exasperated sigh and took her pack away from her. She sorted out Hawke's mess and repacked everything neatly herself.

Maker… What  _had_  been Varric thinking?

When Leandra came home Hawke gave her the purse with the remaining forty-five silvers before she ended up spending or losing it. It would have to be enough until Bethany found work. Perhaps Hawke could find a few less risky jobs for her before she left. Bethany would have better luck obtaining ironbark for Sol than Hawke anyway. She knew how to talk to people whereas Hawke thrived off of sarcasm and violence. If anyone could convince the Dalish - who were a secluded and highly mistrustful race - to part with a coveted resource, it would be Bethany.

"Do you have any idea when you'll return?" Leandra asked worriedly, clutching the purse to her chest. "I know you've been talking about this expedition for ages, but are you really certain going down into the Deep Roads is wise?"

"No. I'm pretty sure it's the dumbest thing I've ever done in my life, which is saying a lot."

"Please be careful, Marian. I don't know what I'd do if anything were to happen to you."

"You'll be fine, Mother. I'll ask Aveline to post a few extra patrols around the area and Bethany, Snowflake, and Gamlen will all be here with you."

"I still don't like the idea of you leaving, but I suppose you'll do what you want no matter what I say," Leandra sighed as she tucked the coin purse away. "Speaking of Gamlen, where is your uncle? I'm about to get dinner started."

"He's in his room. I, er, wouldn't disturb him," Hawke said quickly when Leandra started walking toward Gamlen's door. "He's in one of his moods."

Hawke didn't want her mother traumatized if she walked in on Gamlen doing unmentionable things to a pair of women's lacy smallclothes if she could help it. Just the thought made her queasy.

"Actually," Hawke said, pressing a hand to her stomach, "I'm not feeling all that great. I ate a little while ago, so think I'm going to just lie down for a while." The pastries had been delicious, but far richer than what she usually ate and the cramps from her cycle certainly weren't helping matters either.

"Are you ill?" Leandra said, coming away from Gamlen's door to press a hand to Hawke's cheek.

"Or  _pregnant_?" Bethany suggested innocently from the bedroom doorway, which was clearly revenge for not being allowed to come on the expedition.

Hawke made a sound like a scalded cat.

"Bethany Ann Hawke! No I am not!" Hawke yelled when Leandra went wide-eyed and raised a hand to her lips with a gasp. "Mother, don't listen to her. It's the opposite of pregnant, in fact," she snarled at Bethany, who rolled her eyes and smirked.  _Smirked_!

Hawke hoped she wouldn't say anything to their mother about Varric or the necklace, but Bethany seemed content with her little joke, which was  _not funny_. The door to Gamlen's room opened a minute later and her uncle emerged looking happier and more relaxed than Hawke had ever seen him.

"Gamlen! You look like you're feeling better," Leandra said with a suspicious glance at Hawke. "Good. You can help with dinner."

"Just make sure he washes his hands first," Hawke muttered underneath her breath. Bethany covered her mouth, eyes wide behind her hands as she fought off scandalized giggles.

"What was that?" Gamlen said, his usual grumpiness and suspicion returning as he glowered at Bethany and Hawke.

"Nothing," Hawke said. "I'm just knickered. Er.  _Knackered_."

Maker preserve her.

Bethany completely lost it and pealed into helpless laughter as Gamlen's face flushed bright red. "You think you're funny do you?"

"Actually, I think I'm hilarious," Hawke said. "But anyway. I'm going to bed. Everyone…good night."

Hawke retreated back into the bedroom before her mouth got her into any more trouble. She'd forgotten the red knickers she stuffed down her shirt earlier until they fluttered to the floor when she was undressing. She considered kicking them under the bunk bed but Maker forbid Gamlen or Snowflake should find them. She waffled for a minute or two before picking them up and shoving them into the pack she was bringing on the expedition.

Who knew… Perhaps they'd make a useful slingshot to hurl rocks at darkspawn.

\---

Hawke met up with Bartrand in Hightown approximately three days later with Varric, Anders, and Fenris. Bartrand had gathered a group of twenty or so dwarves, humans, and a handful of elves who would be coming along for the journey. Hawke would be surprised if even half of them returned.

"So are you ready? It's a long trek. If you have any business you need to wrap up here, you'd better do it now," Bartrand said impatiently to Hawke. "We've got most of our wagons and supplies waiting at one of the entrances with a few guards and I'd rather get there before bandits or wild animals decide they'd make a good target."

"I'm ready. Let's get started."

"Then let's not waste any more time."

"Wait!" Hawke heard a familiar voice say and turned to find Bethany jogging up, dressed in her chainmail and leathers with her staff slung over her back. "I'm coming." Bethany said stubbornly when she saw the thundercloud expression on Hawke's face.

"Oh boy," Varric muttered under his breath, taking a step back to avoid being caught in the showdown between Hawkes.

"You had better turn right back around, Bethany," Hawke growled, stabbing a finger in the direction she had come. "I thought we decided that you're staying here."

" _You_  decided, Marian. I have every right to make that choice for myself."

"I told you this was too dangerous! I said no and I mean it.  _No_ , Bethany. Go home."

Anything else Hawke was about to say was interrupted as Bartrand stood in front of the gathering and started his speech, glaring a warning in Hawke's direction. She pinched her lips together and turned to watch him, though the conversation was far from over.

"We've chosen one of the hidden entrances. The Deep Roads there will be nice and virginal, ready for a good deflowering," Bartrand announced before the group, laughing at his own joke.

Hawke and Varric exchanged glances.

"Now there's an interesting image," Varric murmured.

"It'll take a week for us to get to the depth we need, and there are bound to be leftover darkspawn from the Blight. Big risks, big rewards," Bartrand said.

"Risks, rewards, virginal entrances - what could be better?" Hawke said, not bothering to lower her voice.

"Exactly!" Bartrand laughed, pleased with her apparent enthusiasm. "Now, before we...wait. Who invited the old woman?"

"Oh...dammit!" Hawke hissed when she turned with the rest of the group and saw Leandra running up.

"Someone's in trouble..." Varric sing-songed beneath his breath. "Two guesses on which one of you it is."

"I'm sorry to interrupt, ser dwarf, but I need to speak with my children," Leandra said to Bartrand.

"Mother! I told you not to get involved with this!" Bethany said.

"I just want to know one thing: are you planning on taking Bethany with you?" Leandra asked Hawke.

"Mother...I'll be fine. I  _want_  to go."

"It's not fine! You can't both go. What if something were to happen to you?" Leandra said, beseeching her to see reason as she turned to Hawke. "You I understand wanting to do this. But leave your sister here. I beg you!"

"It's the templars or the darkspawn, Mother. At least I'm allowed to fight darkspawn," Bethany protested.

"Well, you're not going to be able to take everyone, anyhow," Bartrand said, stomping over to them. "You'll need to decide. Quickly. We don't have time to stand around all day while you sort out your family drama."

"There's nothing to discuss. Bethany, sweet, I'm sorry but I'm not going to change my mind on this. Go home with Mother," Hawke said.

"I knew you would see reason, Marian," Leandra said, wrapping her fingers around Bethany's upper arm gently. " _Thank you_."

Bethany glared at Hawke with more venom than Hawke had ever seen her direct at anyone in her life, but Bethany had never been able to hold a grudge and wilted. "I hope you're right…"

Hawke reached out and hugged her tightly. Bethany squeezed back just as hard before Leandra gently guided her away with one last grateful look at Hawke. Hawke watched them go and pressed a fist to her stomach, which felt leaden. She sensed a presence at her elbow and didn't need to look down to know Varric had come over to stand beside her, or that Anders and Fenris were at her back in a silent show of solidarity. At least they knew how hard it was for Hawke to leave her family behind.

"Promise me, before we go in there that you won't...that you won't..." she said stiltingly.

"Won't what, Hawke?" Varric prompted. He reached for her hand and hissed softly when he found her fingers freezing. He chafed her hands between his own much warmer ones but Hawke still felt cold all over. "You're worrying me a bit, sweetheart. I hope you're not getting cold feet now."

Hawke closed her eyes, swallowed hard, and tried not to think of the battlefield at Ostagar. Of Lothering. Of the women dragged away screaming and wailing. Of Millie, her single eye staring vacantly at Hawke like an accusation.

"Promise me that you won't let the darkspawn take me alive."

"Hawke, what?"

" _Promise_   _me_ , Varric," Hawke said, gripping his hands tightly as she turned to face him with fire blazing in her eyes. "Or I call this whole thing off now. If we get overwhelmed, if there's no way out… If that happens and you only have one shot left then that bolt had better be for me. Don't let them turn me into one of those...those  _things_. A broodmother. I would rather die first."

Hawke was trembling, blinking rapidly as a delayed fear response hit her all at once.

"Varric! Quit holding us up!" Bartrand called in irritation from the front of the procession. "Get your Ferelden bitch under control and let's get a move on already!"

The fury that flashed across Varric's face was brutal, primal, and Hawke barely moved fast enough to wrench Bianca upward just as Varric shot a bolt directly where Bartrand's head would have been.

"Have you lost your fucking mind?!" Bartrand roared, fighting free of the group and grabbing for his double axes.

"Next time you talk about Hawke that way, I won't miss."

"You get one taste of human pussy and you forget where you came from? Everything we worked to build? If you didn't have those damned maps I would cut you both down right here!"

"I highly advise against that course of action," Anders said, voice echoing with traces of Justice as he stepped between them. He turned to Hawke, eyes fading from blue to amber when Bartrand immediately backed off and swore. "Hawke, I promise you that no matter what happens the darkspawn will never use you to breed more of their filthy kind, even if I have to see to it myself."

"As will I," Fenris said, also stepping forward.

"Thank you," Hawke said, sagging with relief. "Varric, I-"

"Don't ask me to promise something like that, Hawke. I can't. I won't. I'll die fighting to save you first before I'd ever consider putting a bolt between your eyes."

He holstered Bianca and stormed off.

"Let's get this caravan moving! Anyone who falls behind gets left behind, so keep up!" Bartrand called with one last glare at Hawke and her companions before climbing back aboard his cart.


	8. Chapter 8

They had been walking for what felt like weeks.

Hawke never expected the inside of a mountain to be  _muggy_  or anything other than pitch dark and freezing, but thanks to the ingenuity of dwarven engineering rivers of lava had been channeled through the passageways. The lava pools provided heat and enough light to actually see where they were going instead of taking a wrong turn and accidentally dropping off into an endless abyss. She really should count her blessings that their group hadn't yet encountered any darkspawn, but she wasn't the only one frustrated and cranky after days of endless trudging and Bartrand's bitching without any hint of treasure or action in sight.

The grand epicness of an actual dwarven thaig had lost its novelty after the first few days of crushing claustrophobia and time distortion compounded with Anders and Fenris' unceasing bickering. Plus, she and Varric hadn't gotten more than a few minutes alone at any time. The most they had done was make out and exchange furtive handjobs beneath their blankets after everyone else had gone to sleep. Nice as his hands were, Hawke really wouldn't last another week sleeping next to Varric every night without feeling his tongue or his cock in her.

The procession came to a clunky halt as one of Bartrand's scouts came running up.

"There's been a collapse - the way forward is blocked," the heavily tattooed man reported.

"What? Is there some way around?" Bartrand demanded, storming up to the scout who looked suitably petrified and quickly backed away.

"Not that I've been able to find. The side passages are too dangerous."

Bartrand pretended to consider him, but Hawke really wasn't surprised when he hauled off and slugged the guy hard enough to spin him around and knock him unconscious. Bartrand telegraphed that move a mile away. If that had been her, she would have at least tried to duck.

"Useless! What am I paying you blighters for?" Bartrand's question was rhetorical but several of the hirelings looked at each other and shrugged. "Set camp!"

Hawke shook her head to clear the ringing echo of Bartrand's roar from her ears and went to help unload supplies. She was close enough to overhear Fenris and Anders immediately starting up on each other again. She tried her best to keep them separated with Anders at the head of the procession as navigator with his maps and Warden senses while Fenris had been placed as rear guard. They must have collided when she hadn't been looking.

"Why was your friend made Tranquil? Do you know?" Fenris asked Anders.

"No, and it doesn't matter. Nobody deserves that."

"I know some mages who deserve that," Fenris said darkly.

"Really? Perhaps they should start making slaves Tranquil - then they wouldn't dream of escaping! Wouldn't that be wonderful?"

"Slaves do not attract demons that try to possess them."

"Which clearly justifies it? What a perfect solution!

Hawke finally told Isabela, Merrill, and Fenris about  _that night_  at the Chantry so she didn't have any deep dark secrets hanging over her head before she left. Isabela had pumped her fist with a shout of triumph: "I  _knew_  that situation had your sticky fingers written all over it, Hawke! We'll see about the next time you try to gaslight me. I'm on to you, sweet thing."

Merrill had been sad for Karl, but Fenris had shrugged and only used that information as fuel for his and Anders' fights. She was beginning to regret telling him anything, but the former-slave had been determined to hate Anders from the moment they met, so there really wasn't anything she could do except sigh and avoid getting involved altogether.

"I guess we won't be going anywhere for a while," she said to Varric as they carried a large cask of mead between them. Both of them knew what to prioritize first. "Which means a whole lot of time sitting around doing nothing. Whatever will we do with ourselves?"

"No way, Hawke," Varric laughed. "With the mood Bartrand's in the last thing we want to do is get caught with our pants down."

"Come on, Varric. It's been an entire week. I'm  _dying_ ," she wheedled.

It'd actually been longer than a week since she had effectively cockblocked herself choosing to remain at Gamlen's instead of taking advantage of Varric's lack of squeamishness and her brand new supply of birthbane to have marathon sex. She carried a vial of birthbane potion on her belt and took the damn stuff religiously, for all the good it did her. Varric wasn't budging.

Hawke handed off the last crate to Bodahn, a dwarf merchant who had come along with his son Sandal. She brushed off her hands and looked for something to take her mind off the deep, aching throb between her legs, but the group was efficient and soon enough there was nothing to do except choke down the dry rations that made up their supper rather than filling up on mead and wine like she desperately wanted. They couldn't exactly hunt in the Deep Roads, aside from the occasional nug, and didn't dare eat anything they found. Two men had gotten deathly ill off some fungi they had eaten early on in the trip. Only Anders had saved the two idiots, though he needn't have bothered. One of the men wandered off on his own, never to be seen or heard from again, and the other had been buried in a cave-in when one of the passages collapsed.

There were several dwarves starting what appeared to be a rousing card game, but since Hawke had neither coin nor desire to be the subject of their suspicious glares she decided to nurse the single mug of wine she'd been rationed and listen to one of Varric's endlessly entertaining tales. He was good at keeping everyone's minds off their growing boredom and agitation. None of the men Bartrand hired were necessarily Kirkwall's most upstanding citizens - Hawke and present company included. Bartrand wasn't the most motivating asshole around either, but thankfully Varric was skilled at bridging the gap and making people forget how unnerved they were.

Of course, listening to the warm, deep cadence of Varric's voice was a different sort of torture so his stories had exactly the opposite effect on Hawke.

The wagons and carts formed a half circle against a stone wall so the majority of the group not on watch could sleep in the center around a large campfire. The idea was to have a barrier on all sides and hopefully keep the darkspawn from seeing the light of their fire. Hawke bedded down next to Varric in the shadow of one of the carts when their screwed up circadian rhythms deemed the time to be night. The Deep Roads was warm enough from the lava flows that they didn't need to bunk down practically on top of each other to keep warm, but Hawke still claimed a need for sharing body heat when she wedged herself inside Varric's bedroll with him.

Hawke didn't have to fake a shiver when he wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her back flush against his chest, his breath warm against the nape of her neck. Hawke drifted, too aroused to sleep. She waited for what felt like an eternity until camp settled and everyone had returned to their bedrolls to sleep or took their posts on watch shift on the other side of the wagon wall.

Hawke didn't bother trying to pretend they had any semblance of privacy as she turned around in the circle of Varric's arms and kissed him with a purpose. He tried to hold her back but she could tell his heart wasn't really in it because he let her shove him over onto his back and straddle his thighs. She pulled a thin wool blanket over her shoulders, shielding them mostly from view even though the half-assed cover wouldn't fool anyone who happened to look over.

All she was wearing was the long shirt that she slept in and no smallclothes. She made quick work of Varric's laces and drew his cock out, which was well on its way to becoming fully erect. She licked her palm and gave him a few perfunctory strokes before she lifted up on her knees and hiked her shirt up to her waist.

Varric's eyes glinted up at her, reflecting the light from the campfire, but he didn't try to stop her as she positioned him at her entrance and sunk down on his cock in one, shuddering slide. His hands supported her waist as she leaned back to brace her hands on his thighs and started to move in time to their hushed breaths. They tried to keep their breathing deep and even to emulate sleep…if one happened to be having an erotic dream.

Anyone who heard them or glanced over would know immediately what she and Varric were getting up to, especially when the slick sounds between them became amplified in the stagnant air. The camp wasn't perfectly silent; Hawke could still hear the boisterous snoring from the dwarves in their party, the crackle of flames from the campfire, and the sounds of feet shifting or soft conversation from the guards. She and Varric probably should have found a secluded corner for their tryst, but the last thing either of them wanted was to be caught mid-fuck by scouting darkspawn.

Hawke would personally rather take her chances with Bartrand. Privacy was only an illusion and everyone pretty much knew Hawke and Varric were a  _thing_  by this point anyway.

She counted at least a dozen men curled up in their bedrolls around them - including Anders, who had his back to them. Hawke paused when a couple hirelings shifted around before stilling again. Once they settled and no one else moved, she leaned forward to change the angle and braced her hands against Varric's chest as she rode him harder, biting her lip in an effort not to moan. The blanket slid down off her shoulders with the force of her movements but neither one paid it any mind. She arched her back when she started to get close and reached up to squeeze her breast through her nightshirt. Varric's hands on her hips clamped down hard enough to bruise.

"Maker, Hawke," he breathed, sounding as enraptured as he always did when she was like this, taking what she wanted from him and giving it back in return.

Hawke couldn't bother to regulate her breathing any longer. Heavy panting and wet, slick sounds filled the air where they connected as they both came closer and closer to finishing. Hawke whimpered and reached for his hand as it lifted to cup her cheek. She nuzzled his palm before turning her head to sink her teeth into the base of his thumb. She muffled a groan as he slid his other hand between them and got a finger on her clit. She bit back a cry and she jerked, knees lifting off the ground as she seized up and came, grinding and fucking herself on Varric's cock.

He swore softly and grabbed her hips, shoving her down to the hilt as he fucked up inside her. He released seconds later in a series of hot pulses that scoured her from the inside out. She clamped down on him and squeezed out every last drop until he hissed and gently eased her off him.

He drew the discarded blanket up over them both once she stretched out on her back and he curled around her. Varric radiated satisfaction through a soft, lingering kiss but he also gave her a sharp nip in rebuke for her daring. Hawke was wet and sticky between her thighs and against her hip where Varric's softening member brushed against her. She didn't have the heart to protest when instead of cleaning up he cupped a possessive hand over her damp mound and kissed her neck. They could clean up later. Hawke was starting to feel the heavy beginnings of sleep dragging her down and was more than happy to let it take her.

* * *

In the "morning" - Hawke used mental air quotes since there was no possible way to tell time down in the tunnels - the scouts still hadn't found a clear passage.

"Sodding Deep Roads! Who knows how long it'll take to clear the path?" Bartrand raged, glowering at the rubble that blocked their way through. The passage didn't look stable enough to support even a few people crossing on foot, never mind several wagons and pack animals.

"Shall we not try to find a way around, instead? Seems like the logical choice," Varric said reasonably.

"You think I'm an idiot, Varric? The scouts say the side passages are too dangerous!"

"See? This is why you bring someone like me along," Hawke smirked.

"We'll take a look," Varric said, backing her up. "If we come running back, screaming, you'll know staying put was the right decision."

"Fine, fine! Find a way around. Just do it quickly!"

"This is why I left the Wardens," Anders sighed, rubbing his temples. "I hate the blighted Deep Roads..."

Hawke and her companions each grabbed a pack of supplies, not knowing how long they would take or what kind of obstacles they would encounter. Hawke was strapping her potions belt and daggers to her hips when the dwarf merchant, Bodahn, approached them sounding near frantic with worry.

"Er...I hate to add to your burdens, my friends, but I fear I must," Bodahn said, wringing his hands. "I fear my boy, Sandal, wandered off. He's somewhere in those passages, right now!"

"He wandered off alone? Down here?" Hawke said incredulously. Even she wouldn't take a piss without someone holding her hand. She and Varric, and sometimes Anders, had gotten  _very_  comfortable with each other the past week or so, needless to say.

"I beg you, keep an eye out for him. He just...doesn't understand danger like he should. If he has one of his enchantments with him, he'll survive. He's burned down the house twice by accident," Bodahn said proudly. "I'm more worried about him getting lost. Oh, my poor boy!"

"When did you last see him?" Hawke asked.

"Not a half hour ago. I turned my back to hand out rations, and he was gone!"

"He probably thought the area was haunted," Fenris said.

"Haunted? Why would you think that?" Anders asked, hand tightening and releasing nervously around the grip of his staff.

"Did you not hear all the moaning last night? It was enough to scare anyone off."

Varric coughed into his fist to cover a laugh, Anders flushed, and Hawke fought to appear politely oblivious. She didn't think she succeeded. She and Varric had woken up to a smattering of applause and had been receiving knowing smirks and snickers from the others in the expedition all morning.

"He gets so easily distracted," Bodahn said. "Ah, I should have been harsher with my warnings!"

"We need to search the side passages," Hawke advised her companions. "We'll bring him back if we can."

"Poor Sandal. I can't believe he's done this!" Bodahn wept as he went to console himself by his wagon.

"Let's move quickly then," Varric said.

Anders was tracking their progress on the maps, which they refused to hand over to Bartrand after that little scene between him and Varric in Hightown as added insurance. Hawke did not want to wander the Deep Roads without a clue as to where she was going. It was easy to get turned around when the areas they passed through all looked the same.

Hawke shivered as they diverted off the main path and entered through a stone tunnel. She could feel the sweat beneath her leathers chill against her skin. There was no precipitation for snow or frost to form, but the previously warm, orange light from the lava flows took on a distinctly blue tone. They found the source of the illumination originating from veins of pure lyrium that ran through the stone walls. Fenris' brands throbbed in time to his heartbeat and Anders looked faintly nauseous as they very carefully skirted the glowing lyrium deposits and went further down the pathway.

"I sense darkspawn," Anders said as he unslung his staff and aimed a blast of electricity at a doorway just as it burst open and several darkspawn came rushing through.

"I  _smell_  darkspawn," Hawke said, wrinkling her nose and dropping her pack out of the way.

These were the first darkspawn she'd seen since Lothering. Their appearance - and smell - certainly hadn't improved since then. Two went down simultaneously as Hawke hit one in the eye with a throwing knife and the other in the throat. She snorted when Varric took out the next pair of darkspawn the exact same way with his bolts.

"Show off!" she called.

"That's two for me!" he grinned back before he shot another genlock in the face. "Three!"

"Four!" Fenris said as he disappeared and reappeared behind a darkspawn archer and sliced off its head.

Hawke heard Anders yell something that was definitely not a kill count and looked over just in time to see a hurlock haul him up over its head. It threw him right into a stalagmite? Stalactite? A  _formation_  of lyrium. His back hit, shattering rock as he bounced off and slammed into the ground. He rolled onto his hands and knees and immediately started retching.

"Anders!" Hawke yelled, swearing as she fought her way over to him. "Are you all right?"

Anders opened his mouth to answer but doubled over as he ejected more bile.

"Hold on!"

Hawke cast around and spotted Anders' staff as the hurlock reached down for it. She kneed the hurlock in the face and stabbed her dagger down into the space between its neck and shoulder. She had to duck to avoid getting sprayed by blood as she hit an arterial vein and kept her lips firmly clamped. She and Fenris had to be particularly careful not to come into contact with darkspawn blood since they were both close-range fighters. She grabbed the staff and tossed it toward Anders. She hoped that he'd use it to heal himself, but he had gone pale and was shaking too hard to even keep himself upright, much less reach for his staff.

"Shit," she cursed, torn between helping him and helping Varric and Fenris kill off the last of the darkspawn.

She chose the darkspawn because it would do Anders no good if they both got killed while their guard was down. By the time the three of them finished off the last of the darkspawn Anders was lying flat on his stomach, back heaving as he clawed furrows into the dirt and keened. Between Varric and Hawke they got Anders stripped out of his coat and robes, only to find shards of lyrium embedded into his back. His skin swelled around each shard and she could see vein-like lines branching out from each pucker.

"We've got to get those out! It'll kill him if we don't," Varric said urgently, trying to grab one of the bigger fragments carefully between his gloved fingers. Anders cried out when the shard slipped out of his grasp and wedged in deeper. "Shit! We can't touch it. Anyone have tweezers?"

"Allow me," Fenris said, elbowing Varric aside as he knelt next to Anders. "Mage. Feel free to pass out. This will hurt."

"Just do it-arrgghh!" Anders yelled when Fenris' brands lit up and he sunk his fingers into Anders' back. "What are you doing?!"

"Saving your life. Now be still. And  _quiet_."

"I can gag him," Hawke offered.

"If he survives, I will hold you to that."

"Hang in there, Blondie," Varric said, taking Anders' hand and letting him squeeze while Fenris plucked. Anders convulsed with a cry and Hawke winced as each shard was painstakingly fished out and removed.

"It's stuck in the bone," Fenris said, furrowing his brows at the last visible shard sticking out from Anders' right shoulder blade. "You may want to bite down on something."

"No time!" Hawke called. "I think I hear more darkspawn coming!"

"Do it!" Anders demanded, pale and sweating. "Now, Fenris!"

Fenris growled and his brands lit up as he stuck his fingers into Anders' back. Hawke and Varric had to hold Anders down when Fenris wedged the piece back and forth, trying to get the shard unstuck. The screams from Anders were getting louder and louder, as were the sounds of the darkspawn until he let out a roar and they were blasted back by a wave of pure energy.

Lightning crackled under Anders' skin as he picked up his staff and stood with his eyes blazing with light. They watched as a few tiny pieces that Fenris had missed pushed themselves out of his skin and tinkled to the ground like a bloody lyrium rain. The gashes in his back sealed themselves up like they had never existed.

"Demon!" Fenris snarled. He tossed aside the final shard still pinched between his gauntlets and jumped up to his feet. He grabbed his broadsword and ignored the darkspawn filtering into the area as he pointed his blade at Anders, or Justice, who didn't spare him a second glance. "Abomination! Stand down!"

"Uh, we have bigger problems right now, Broody!" Varric said, loading Bianca as giant spiders scuttled around the darkspawn and headed right toward them. They were bigger than even Snowflake and clicked their fangs as they hissed threateningly.

"I hate spiders," Hawke shuddered. She wished, not for the first time, that she'd taken up a bow instead.

Anders shot off a fireball and the spiders exploded into flame. They squealed as they ran wildly and crashed into several of the darkspawn who proved to be just as flammable.

"Yes!" Hawke hissed, pumping her fist. "You are my new favorite, Anders! Er…Justice."

"Hey!" Varric protested as he shot a hail of arrows out over the thickest clump of darkspawn. "You make me kill spiders for you all the time."

"Yes, but those ones aren't the size of my dog."

"Fine. Then I will just let them eat you next time."

"Lies and untruths," Hawke declared confidently as she dodged a flying arrow and brought the hilt of her dagger down against a darkspawn's wrist. It dropped its bow with a hiss and she deftly slit its throat before moving onto the next.

Hawke lost herself briefly to the familiar rhythms of fighting, finishing off the darkspawn that were imitating pincushions thanks to Bianca or half-charred due to Anders' flurry of spellcasting. Fenris kept as far away from Anders as possible even after the doorway stopped spewing out more enemies and Anders' eyes returned to their usual golden brown.

"Does it not concern you that he is possessed?" Fenris said.

Hawke had taken him aside to explain the whole Justice thing while Anders got dressed and Varric retrieved his bolts. Hawke couldn't help but notice a blotchy shape on Anders' shoulder that may or may not have been a cat and old patterns of scarring on his back. She glanced away as he slipped his robe over his head.

"He says he can control it and he's given me no reason to believe otherwise. I won't say no to a little extra help, especially down here."

"Tread cautiously, Hawke. There is more than one way to make a deal with a demon."

Hawke rolled her eyes and retrieved her pack. She nearly ran her fingers through her hair but remembered at the last second that her hands - and everything else - were covered in darkspawn guts. Maker, she would  _kill_  for a bath, but had to make due with carefully scrubbing the blood off her armor and daggers with a filthy rag while they walked. They continued down the passage until she nearly tripped and stumbled over something. She gave a surprised shout and caught herself with a hand against the wall, looking down to find a trail of darkspawn bodies.

"That's…odd," she mused, cautiously following the trail right to…

"Well, I'll be a nug's uncle. Isn't that Bodahn's boy?" Varric said.

Hawke saw the back of a young, blond dwarf who appeared entirely oblivious to the corpses of darkspawn that surrounded him like a wheel of carnage. He was staring out into a misty abyss and turned with a bright smile when he noticed them. He was entirely unmarked without even a scratch or drop of blood on him.

"Hello!" Sandal said, wide mouth stretched in a grin.

"He survived this entire time?" Hawke breathed incredulously. There had always been something a little off, maybe even a little creepy about Sandal. She couldn't quite yet decide if he really was as sweet as he appeared or more dangerous than she could possibly imagine. She kept her tone gentle and disarming as she asked, "Did you kill all these darkspawn?"

He held out his hand to her. Sitting in his palm was a rock marked with a swirl pattern. She took it cautiously, curious despite herself.

" _Boom_ ," he said in explanation.

"And...how did you do that?" Hawke looked to her right at the statue of an ogre frozen mid-charge. It didn't even look real. The perfectly grotesque ice sculpture wouldn't be out of place in some Hightown noble's parlor, displayed by a lord desperate to be viewed by his peers as outrageously daring or eccentric.

"Not enchantment!" Sandal said.

It was far less helpful than he probably thought, but Hawke could only stare after him when he turned away and walked back the way the group had come without a care in the world.

"Smart boy," Varric mused.

"I think we might be safer off with  _him_ ," Anders joked, but Hawke completely agreed.

"Come on. We still need to find a way past that collapse," Varric said. "Hawke, leave that alone."

"Spoilsport," Hawke said, withdrawing her hand from the ogre statue. She was sorely tempted to shatter the ice but knowing her luck she'd either break her foot, blunt her blades, or actually succeed only to find a living, breathing ogre underneath.

She left the damn thing alone.

* * *

Hawke lost track of how long they'd been walking through the dwarven passageways. They had to backtrack several times when they encountered dead ends, collapsed tunnels, or crumbling walkways until they opened a door and walked into a room completely devoid of anything.

Except for a living, breathing ogre.

Hawke barely managed to shrug off her pack and slam it into the ogre's face as it charged. It roared and ripped the bag apart with its claws, sending supplies scattering but the brief distraction gave her time to go for her daggers. The room didn't allow much space to maneuver and the damn thing was fast. Attempts to draw it out into the larger chamber they had entered from proved to be impossible since its sheer size blocked the doorway. Trying to dart past it brought one perilously close into arms reach.

Varric's bolts weren't having any effect and Hawke's blades were more of an irritant against the ogre's tough hide. The room was too enclosed to risk bombs or grenades, so Hawke kept low and tried to hamstring the ogre while Anders and Fenris took over the majority of the attacks. The ogre's fists shattered stone as it swung, trying to smash them beneath its enormous hand.

Hawke could see the punch coming a mile away when the ogre's arm cocked back, but its reach was so long that even as she quickly flipped backward to get out of the way its knuckles still connected with her ribcage and sent her flying. Hawke could feel bone splinter upon impact, puncturing her lungs and possibly other internal organs. All breath and sense was knocked out of her as she skidded for several yards across the stone floor and finally came to sudden, harsh stop against the wall.

"Hawke!" She heard several voices yell at once.

Her torso was on fire and her diaphragm spasmed as she tried desperately to suck air into her damaged lungs. She couldn't move other than to turn her head, drooling out blood that filled her mouth. There was a roar and the entire floor shook as the ogre squatted down and prepared to charge right at her, intending to gouge her with its horns or stomp her to death. Hawke closed her eyes, tears of pain and regret cutting hot across the bridge of her nose. Her mouth worked soundlessly, blood bubbling and frothing at her lips. She tried to cry out for Varric, for her mother, for Bethany, for Carver…who had already died at the hands of one of these beasts.

Maker, what had she been thinking trying to take an ogre head on? Stupid, she was so...

There was a blast that shook the room and the ogre bellowed an enraged shout. The broken bones of her ribs ground together with each footstep that moved further away as she heard the sound of Anders' spells being flung at the ogre, distracting it away from her.

"Hawke!"

Someone called again, sounding much closer. There was a thump as the person dropped to their knees next to her followed by a rustle of leather and the clatter of something wooden and heavy being tossed aside.

" _Varric_ ," her mouth tried to say, but her chest seized and she choked, unable to swallow or spit out the blood that was welling up faster and faster.

"Oh, Maker, Hawke, no!"

Varric almost sounded like he was crying, but Hawke's eyes refused to focus so she couldn't actually say for certain. His hands were hot on her face even through his gloves, holding her steady, which was when Hawke realized she was shaking. Every shiver was torture, but she just couldn't stop. She was so, so cold…

"Blondie! Get over here!"

"Kinda busy!" Anders called back, voice strained over the  _whoosh whoosh whoosh_  of his staff as he frantically cast spell after spell. Hawke didn't know where Fenris was because he fought as silently as a ghost. She assumed he was still alive and fighting since Varric wasn't crying over  _him_.

" _Now_ , Anders! Or I fucking swear I will shoot you myself!"

The rage and fear in Varric's voice was unlike anything she had ever heard. Hawke would have laughed at him in any other circumstance, like when she wasn't currently bleeding or suffocating to death. Anders swore, shooting off one last crackle of electricity that probably had as much effect on an ogre as a tickle did on Isabela before Hawke heard him skid to his knees next to her.

"Go!" Anders said, his blurry outline shoving at Varric. "If it gets past Fenris then we're all dead, including Hawke!"

Varric spat something out that would have made even Hawke blush if she had any blood left to redirect to her cheeks. She felt a touch against her lips - a kiss? mouth-to-mouth resuscitation? - but the sensation, and Varric, soon vanished.

"I thought you were better at ducking, Hawke," Anders said, distracting her from the overwhelming desire to punch him when he prodded at her side and ribs with his fingertips. "But I guess that's why your name is Hawke, not Duck."

It was a terrible joke, not even worthy of acknowledgment. Hawke moaned around a gurgling laugh anyway.

"Shh, sorry, sorry. Gallows humor. I'll be quiet now."

Hawke really was going to punch him whether she was actually alive to do it or not. Anders finally ceased with the poking and laid his hands very, very lightly over her breastbone and ribcage. Hawke distantly felt her spine arch as light from Anders' hands encompassed her, filling her chest cavity. Her entire sternum expanded outward like an over-inflated pig bladder that children used to kick around back in Lothering. Her head dropped back limply and blood poured out of her mouth, running into her nose, her eyes, her ears until all of her senses were dulled to a low roar.

She could feel the shifting of her bones as they moved around inside her, realigning and fusing back into place, even the tiniest fragments of bone dust. The shredded muscles of her organs were hastily repaired. More blood was forced up through her throat as the gentlest of pressures squeezed down, down, down on her lungs, wringing them out like a sponge. Hawke felt Anders turn her onto her side. His fingers swept inside her mouth to clear out the blood before he released the spell. Hawke sucked in a sharp, wrenching breath that was half scream before coughing violently, thrashing in Anders' arms as she fought tooth and nail for air. Every cough felt like razor blades in her chest, threatening to rattle apart her newly mended bones.

She tried to claw the blood out of her eyes but her hand was knocked away when a heavy weight fell against her side. She froze, unable to see. She expected to be lifted off the ground by the ogre's hand around her, but then she heard Anders groan quietly in her ear. Hawke swiped her forearm across her face and shoved her weight backward, heaving Anders off where he had apparently collapsed on top of her.

"Anders?" Hawke said, shaking him, but his head just lolled on his neck. She yanked her glove off with her teeth, spitting it out before shoving her fingers against his neck right below the hinge of his jaw. She exhaled a breath of relief when she felt a fluttery pulse.

"Fenris! Shit!"

Hawke's head whipped around at Varric's call. She felt her stomach go leaden when she saw Fenris' sword knocked out of his hand. The ogre grabbed him around the middle and lifted Fenris off his feet, holding him overhead in preparation to slam him into the ground. Hawke saw a flash of Carver's death all over again and scrambled to her hands and knees. Three bolts hit the ogre right in the pit of the arm that was holding Fenris before Hawke heard the telltale 'click, click, click' of Bianca firing on empty.

The ogre roared and swung around toward Varric. Fenris fought and strained against its hold, but all the ogre had to do was squeeze and Fenris' spine would be crushed. Fenris let out a furious yell and before Hawke could do more than cry out she saw his lyrium brands light up and he fazed right through the ogre's hand. He dropped to the floor in a crouch and rolled away as an enormous fist slammed into the ground right where he landed.

With Varric out of ammo and Anders unconscious, their chances weren't looking great. Hawke patted herself down frantically, but all of her potion vials had been smashed and she was unable to find her daggers. Fenris reclaimed his sword and lifted it time to knock the ogre's arm away as it made for another grab. He let out a gasp when his blow connected, curling around his left side and nearly dropping his weapon. Shit. The ogre must have cracked or bruised his ribs, too.

Hawke wondered if this would be it for them when her fingers closed around something round and hard in her pocket. When she pulled her hand back, Sandal's boom rock was sitting in her palm. She had no idea how it activated, but she didn't have time to think when she yelled, "Get down!" and threw it right at the ogre.

Thankfully Fenris and Varric reacted out of sheer instinct and they both dove, hitting the ground as a thunderous  _boom_  shook the room, threatening to bring the ceiling down upon them as dust and stone sediment rained down from above. Hawke turned and wrapped herself around Anders. She covered his head with her body and dropped her forehead against the ground, unable to bring herself to look.

"Cle-ack! Clear!" Varric coughed.

Hawke felt all of the air go out of her aching lungs as she collapsed against Anders, limp with pain and relief. She heard a weak moan and felt Anders' fingers twitch against her side. She got off of him quickly so she didn't accidentally suffocate him to death. Anders coughed as he rolled onto his side and Hawke placed her hand against his back, not sure what to do now that they weren't dead.

"Good thinking, Hawke," Varric said, picking himself up off the floor and dusting his coat off before helping Fenris stand.

The ogre was frozen with its arms outstretched toward them, its face twisted in a hateful snarl that both men ignored as they hobbled over. Fenris favored his left side and couldn't seem to put weight on his left foot either. Varric slung Fenris' arm across his shoulders and wrapped his own around his waist. Together they limped over to Hawke and Anders. Hawke reached up when Varric handed him off, and surprisingly Fenris let himself be lowered to the ground without a fuss.

Varric searched around them for a moment before he spotted Hawke's missing daggers and scavenged the remains of their packs. The vials of elfroot and birthbane that Hawke kept on the belt around her waist had been smashed to pieces. It said more about Hawke's priorities that the loss of birthbane was more devastating. She thought she might have left more back at the main camp, but she couldn't be certain.

They barricaded both doors to the room and set up camp on the side furthest away from the ogre statue. Varric managed to find one intact bedroll, a few strips of gauze, two water skins, one wineskin, a few pieces of hardtack, and a handful of dried fruit and nuts to split between the four of them. They only had half a phial of healing potion between them, which they decided to save in case of an extreme emergency. In actually, it probably wouldn't do more than take the edge off.

Anders took a long, grateful pull from the waterskin before wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and passing it back to Varric. Varric used a tiny portion of the water to clean Hawke's face the best he could, but her hair was tacky with blood and none of them could expect baths anytime soon.

"We're in pretty bad shape and almost out of supplies," Varric said. "I figure we've got two choices: forge on ahead and hope the passage brings us a way through instead of into the path of more darkspawn, or go back the way we came. The route back should be clear, but we risk losing any progress we've made. Either way, I'm in favor of resting a bit first since half of us can't exactly walk right now."

"I can heal Fenris' foot once I recover some mana," Anders said. He was barely able to sit up on his own.

"I don't want your magic anywhere near me, abomination," Fenris snarled.

"I just saved your life!"

"You did no such thing."

"Sure I did. I healed Hawke, who turned around and saved all of our asses, so it's partially thanks to me we're still alive," Anders said airily. His roundabout logic was meant in jest but in actuality none of them would have lasted this long without each other. Hawke was more grateful by the minute that she hadn't brought Bethany to this accursed place.

"Do you see yourself as harmless, then? An abomination who would never harm anyone?"

"Like ripping someone's heart of his chest?"

"I did that at the behest of no demon. Just as I could have easily ripped  _yours_  out. Or would you have rather I left you with those lyrium shards in your back while they slowly killed you?"

"Enough," Varric said sharply, cutting right through the middle of their argument. "Neither of you are winning MVP today. If anything, we should thank our lucky stars we found Sandal and that rock of his, or we wouldn't even be having this conversation right now."

"Agreed," Hawke said. "Fenris, stop being stubborn."

"Spare me. I'll hobble my way back without the mage's  _help_."

"Fine. Then I say we keep going," Hawke said. "If we get back to camp without a way through it won't matter if the darkspawn get to us. Bartrand will kill us himself. You saw what he did to the last guy who brought him bad news."

"He wasn't a duck either," Anders said. And, really, Hawke was more than ready to retire that joke.

"This is a terrible idea, Hawke," Varric said.

"What part about this expedition was a  _good_  idea?"

"Fair point. If you're sure..."

"I'm really, really not. In fact, I may come to soon regret this decision. I'm just hoping that it can't get any worse from here."

"Don't say that! Why would you say that?" Anders groaned. "That's it. You've gone and done it now, Hawke. What's next?  _Five_  ogres? An archdemon?"

"A band of singing nugs that dress up and do little tricks?" Varric suggested.

"Oh! Is that a dwarf thing? I wouldn't mind singing nugs," Anders said, perking up.

"He was being  _facetious_ , Anders," Hawke said, holding a straight face even when Varric sucked his bottom lip into his mouth and looked away, clearly fighting back a laugh.

"I could eat a nug about now," Fenris said.

Anders' stomach gave a rumble of agreement and he clapped his hand over his belly with a groan. "Oh...blackened pudding and roasted lamb shank in rosemary mint sauce. And tiny potatoes with fresh-churned butter."

"I'm a meat and potatoes kind of guy myself," Varric said wistfully. "Although I do like those fried pies with the gravy down by the docks. What about you, Hawke? What's the first thing you're going to eat as soon as we get back?"

"Chocolate cake," Hawke said.

They all sighed longingly.

They chewed unenthusiastically on their meager rations and decided to split up into pairs and take turns on watch. Fenris and Anders balked at being paired up together, but Hawke just pointed at Varric and said resolutely, "We're going to fuck."

They got remarkably quiet after that.

The square room provided next to no privacy, but Anders and Fenris stuck to one corner while Hawke and Varric claimed the other. Hawke let them have the bedroll so they could at least pretend to sleep.

"We're going to fuck, huh?" Varric said. He tried to sound disapproving, but his eyes were hot and hungry as Hawke made quick work of her leathers and pulled her shirt up over her head. The look softened once he actually got a good glimpse at her. He let out a sympathetic hiss and touched the inflamed skin over her ribs which were turning lurid shades of black and violet. "Are you-?"

"This is a 'holy shit we didn't die' fuck, Varric. You don't get to ask me if I'm okay."

Varric took his hands away and held them up in defense. "Fair enough. How do you want to do this?"

"I want to see you," Hawke said softly, reaching out to curl her fingers in Varric's tunic.

In response, Varric hooked his hand around the back of her neck and drew her into a kiss while they both fumbled with the laces of his trousers. They used Varric's coat as meager protection against the stone ground when they both undressed down to their skin. Hawke didn't feel the cold or the protest of her ribs as she curled herself around Varric, who was comfortingly warm and solid.

She rocked in his lap, grinding her hips in tight, concentrated circles and dug her fingers into his flexing back muscles for leverage. Her own internal muscles fluttered and clamped around him as his cock speared her again and again. She choked out a moan and buried her face in his neck when he grabbed her ass and pulled her further down onto him with each thrust. She began moving up and down, fucking herself on him until he hissed out a breath and tipped her over onto her back.

Varric braced himself between her legs with hands gripping his coat at either side of her shoulders and steadily rolled his hips against hers. He didn't put any weight on her or pound into her like an anvil even when she wrapped her arms and legs around him in an attempt to pull him down on top of her, which left her all but dangling in midair. His breaths were coming in rasps and Hawke could feel the minute shift as he lowered her back to the ground and crowded her in.

"Close," he murmured, voice low and strained as his hands tightened on the coat beneath Hawke's head, pulling some of her hair as well.

Hawke tightened her legs around him and dug her heels into the meaty part of his backside. "I want you to come in me," Hawke begged, gasping when he pinched the delicate skin over her clavicle between his teeth and muffled a groaned.

"Hawke..." he said, letting her skin go and nuzzling her breast desperately. "Baby, you know we can't."

Hawke bit back a sob and arched against him, trying to get that extra bit of friction against her clit. He put a hand on her hip and gently but firmly pushed her back. He slid out of her with a hurt sound like pulling away pained him just as much. Hawke was left clenching, feeling raw and empty. She wanted to say hang the consequences and pull him back into her until she felt his cock swell, his balls tighten, and felt the warm, wet drip of his spend leak out of her with the last of his jerking thrusts. He dropped his forehead between her breasts with a low groan like he could read her thoughts. His hand flew over his cock as her hips strained against his other hand still holding her down.

"I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, Hawke," he was whispering... _chanting_  against her skin.

The tip of his cock brushed again and again over the hollow of her hip until he stiffened. Hawke felt the first hot splashes of his release stripe across her belly and catch in her pubic hair. She tried to chase the last few pulses, grinding her sex against the back of his hand with broken, desperate noises that became a sob when the loss hooked beneath her tender ribcage and  _yanked_.

"Shh," Varric hushed, wiping his hand against his coat before shifting up to curl around her, drawing her against his chest. "Maker's swollen taint, Marian... I am so fucking sorry."

Hawke clung to him, pawing at his face, his hair, as she sobbed loudly and messily. She tried to stifle her keening against his neck, but it felt like her heart was breaking. She could have sworn it had turned into ice and shattered inside her chest, pricking her still-healing lungs. She wept for those she'd lost, for those she'd  _nearly_ lost, and for those who may or may not yet come to be; the children whose futures were an uncertain, terrifying thing especially when Hawke still felt so much like a child herself.

What she wanted most of all was to survive the blasted Deep Roads so they could all see sunlight again and face whatever the world threw at them together.

She let the fear and relief and longing sweep her away until she exhausted even those.

* * *

Their party walked in silence.

Hawke found Sandal's boom rock astoundingly intact right between the ogre's feet. She held it clenched in her fist at all times and threw it in the direction of any suspicious sounds, hoping that Sandal or Bartrand's scouts weren't wandering about. Varric retrieved all the bolts he could find and modified arrows he pilfered from darkspawn archers, even though he complained about the arrows fucking up Bianca's chassis or whatever. Fenris had wrapped his foot and ribs and made a crutch from an emissary's staff, despite his aversion to all things magic.

Physically, Anders seemed fine, but he couldn't summon more than a wisp and looked as if he had aged ten years. He used to have plenty to say about the mistreatment of mages or hating the Deep Roads – a sentiment that Hawke had come to empathize with perfect understanding - but now he kept his mouth pinched in a tight line and didn't look at anyone.

Varric didn't say much either even when Hawke stepped on him half a dozen times. He was practically fused to her side, fists clenching and releasing until Hawke reached down and took one of his hands in her own. What was there to say when both she and Anders had nearly died and they were already a couple weeks into the expedition without any hint of treasure in sight?

If Anders hadn't been there then Hawke would have died. There was no getting around that fact. She owed him her life and more than that - an apology. She'd been letting Fenris provoke him and never stuck up for him once because she secretly thought he was a loose cannon waiting to explode into an abomination at any moment, too. Hawke was aware she had the emotional maturity of a rock, but she never really felt like it'd been a handicap until now. Why put her feelings into words when she could just make a joke or punch someone's lights out if she didn't like the way a conversation was going?

Anders' head was down and he was staring at his feet as he shuffled one foot in front of the other. They were all exhausted, but Anders had damn near killed himself to save Hawke, and she had yet to say a simple 'thank you.' Hawke tore her eyes away from Anders and looked down when Varric squeezed her hand. He gave her a faint, sad smile and nudged her in Anders' direction.

"Go, Hawke. Or it'll keep eating at you."

Damn Varric for knowing her so well.  _Too_  damn well.

"I don't... What do I say?"

"Shit, I don't know. Talk about the weather? The current world state? His damned cat tattoo? You're usually pretty good at winging it."

She regularly convinced people she was a responsible and capable adult on a regular basis, but she would much rather leave improvising to the professionals like Varric. Still, Anders was starting to become a friend and Hawke didn't have so many of those that she could afford to treat them carelessly. She had to at least try.

"So..." Hawke started awkwardly, sidling up next to Anders' side. "Nice weather we've been having?"

Anders' head came up and he stared at her, startled and suspicious all at once. Hawke didn't know what he saw in her expression, but it must have passed par because his feathered shoulders eased and his mouth softened into a lopsided grin.

"'Nice weather'? Is this payback for the Duck comment earlier?"

Hawke threw her head back and laughed, full-throated and supported by an actual working pair of lungs thanks to him. "Well, it is now," Hawke said when she stopped laughing long enough to catch her breath. Maker, she was never taking breathing for granted again.

"Sorry. I've been told I have an inappropriate sense of humor in life or death situations," Anders said.

"Been in many of those have you?"

"Despite what you may have been led to believe, life in the Circle and then the Wardens wasn't always baking pies and crocheting doilies."

"Then someone needs to have a word with their recruiter. Whoever that is deserves to be strung up by their ankles. No doilies you say? The  _gall_. What else am I supposed to set my drinks on?" Hawke said.

"I would  _kill_  for a drink," Anders groaned. "Like, literal murder with my bare hands."

"I thought you didn't drink?"

"Oh, I have nothing against alcohol. Oghren, another Warden I used to know, and I used to have this drinking game. Every time the Warden-Commander would say 'fucking useless shem assholes' we would drink. Nine times out of ten we couldn't walk a straight line by the time we reached the outer gates of Vigil's Keep."

"So what happened, Blondie? You get court marshaled?" Varric asked.

"Ah, no," Anders said with a wistful smile. "The Warden-Commander, or the Hero of Ferelden as you might know her, was right there drinking with us. For a tiny elf, she could really pack it away. After she left and a Warden from Orlais was brought in as the new Commander, things sort of fell to shit. Now Justice doesn't let me drink anymore. He doesn't understand why I would want to, even though he has front row seats to all of my worst memories."

"Anders, that's heinous," Hawke gasped with actual horror. Fenris snorted. "I am so sorry. I promise, if you ever manage to eject that buzzkill of yours and we make it back home, I will be the first to buy you a drink on the house."

"I'd like that," Anders smiled.

The group's progress was slow but thankfully a little less fraught after that exchange.

They were all understandably jumpy and Hawke pitched her rock at the slightest sound. The others learned very quickly to stay close and not to startle her, lest they end up as statues as well. Each time there was nothing there. Perhaps a loose stone had fallen or the foundations were shifting, but either way they'd have to spend the next however many minutes waiting for the smoke to clear before slowly sneaking forward in case of an ambush. Then they'd have to dig through the rubble to find the damn rock again. They didn't encounter any more darkspawn after the ogre. No one complained, of course, but with next to no supplies Hawke could feel time become more condensed and urgent.

They backtracked a few times before finally entering an enormous chamber full of giant statues of dwarves hefting axes or hammers. Hawke saw that it was completely devoid of darkspawn as well. She considered pocketing the stone and giving her cramped fingers a break as her shoulders finally came down from where they were wedged around her ears.

"This might be a good place to ca-" Hawke started and then ducked when an unholy screech came from overhead. "You have got to be fucking kidding me!" Hawke yelled when a massive, angry dragon landed right in the middle of the chamber.

The dragon reared up on its hind legs and Hawke could see its gorge working as a mass traveled up its deep, muscular chest and into its throat.

"Duck!" she yelled, hitting the floor and rolling with three other bodies as a fireball shot right over their heads. "Fuck, fuck, fuck! Retreat! Go!"

Hawke scrambled up into a low crouch and grabbed Varric by his collar and Anders by his robes, all but pitching them back the way they'd come. Fenris was already up and running, not even showing a hint of a limp as adrenaline pumped through their veins. The four of them rounded the corner right when a second fireball hit the wall behind them, pelting them with chunks of flaming rock.

"Shit!" Anders swore, beating at his feathered pauldron when it had begun to smoulder. "How in the name of Andraste's bloody knickerweasels is there a  _dragon_  in here?"

"Someone must have forgotten to close the back door. I hear they're a nuisance in chimneys especially," Varric wheezed. He doubled over with his hands on his knees as he fought to catch his breath. "What are we going to do, Hawke?"

"Get the fuck out of here!" she said, shouting to be heard over the roars and stomping of the dragon. They moved further away from the chamber so they could hear each other. "We are in no way equipped to take on a dragon."

The last time Hawke had fought a dragon had been at the Bone Pit with Merrill, Aveline, and Isabela. They'd barely managed to take it down then, especially with its much smaller but no less deadly babies nipping and clawing at them while they tried to dodge the mother dragon's attacks from above. Granted, this dragon was much smaller and appeared to be without young, but none of them were in any condition to fight. Anders could barely cast a barrier spell and Fenris still refused to let "the abomination" heal him. Hawke's lungs and ribs were still tender from their encounter with an ogre's fist. The only one in half-way decent fighting condition was Varric, but he had a very limited supply of ammunition.

"I second Hawke," Varric said. "If Bartrand wants to come through this way then he can damn well deal with the dragon himself."

"Anders?" Hawke asked. She could at least let everyone decide for themselves if they still wanted to proceed or turn back and risk losing any progress they had made.

"Honestly, it doesn't matter to me either way. I figure we've already made it this far, what's a dragon or two?"

"I agree with the mage," Fenris said. "We have come too far to be chased away by a single dragon. I am in favor of fighting."

"Will wonders never cease?" Anders pinched himself. "Perhaps we did die after all if  _he's_ agreeing with me."

"And that is the only thing I agree with you on as long as you manage to keep that demon contained."

"Justice is not a demon. With his help, we may even stand a chance."

"Okay, so what we need is a distraction," Varric said, resigning himself to the idiocy of taking on a dragon. "Hawke, try the boom stone or whatever you're calling it on the dragon first. Who knows? If it was enough to freeze an ogre solid, maybe it'll at least slow a dragon down. While it's distracted, I'll get up on higher ground and aim for its wings. I have nine shots, so the best I can do is maybe keep the damn thing grounded. Its attention will probably be on me at that point so, Blondie, if you have enough juice for a barrier spell, I'd appreciate one  _before_  it realizes I'm out of arrows."

"I think I can manage that. I might even have enough mana for a few ice spells if the stone doesn't have much effect."

"Save it. We're going to need you to heal any injured or unconscious party members," Varric said with a stern look at Fenris.

"I assume Fenris and I will be engaging in any actual fighting against the dragon," Hawke said, feeling her stomach tense and lurch in anticipation at the prospect.

She was stiff and sore, but from what she'd seen of the dragon before running away, plus her own personal experience, she should still be fast enough to dodge its teeth, claws, fireballs, and tail if she stayed underneath it. Dragons had a limited range of vision, so as long as she and Fenris kept out of its line of sight it should be possible.

"I'll go for the underbelly," Hawke said. "Fenris, stick to its flanks and watch out for its tail."

"Understood," Fenris said.

"One more thing," she said. "We don't know what else might come running at the dragon's call. If more darkspawn appear or there are dragonlings hidden somewhere, then I want everyone to fall back and come right back here immediately. We'll bottleneck them at the doorway and take them down one by one, saving the big one for last. Got it?"

"Andraste preserve us," Anders said, unslinging his staff as Fenris drew his sword. "Did I mention I hate the blighted Deep Roads?"

"Several times, Blondie. Believe me. We get it," Varric said as he slotted a bolt into place. "Now who's ready to make some poor life choices?"

It turns out they all were.

The plan went off without a hitch…for the first minute or two. Hawke snuck around the corner once the fireballs had died down, waiting until the dragon turned its back before launching the boom rock right at its feet. The dragon disappeared under a cloud of smoke. Varric, wreathed in a pale green dome, darted past her and headed toward the left-hand staircase leading up to a platform in the center of the chamber. Hawke and Fenris moved into position and Anders stayed back, keeping an eye out for anything that might try and sneak up on them from behind.

Disappointingly, the boom rock had no effect other than to seriously piss the dragon off. Hawke darted in when the dragon reared up, beating its wings and roaring. The turbulence buffeted Fenris and Anders back, but Hawke was already in the eye of the storm. She heard the sound of Bianca firing in succession and looked up to see several bolts striking the dragon's shoulders, right where its wings connected. She kept a tally of the amount of bolts Varric used, finding him down to half. She slashed at the thinner scales covering the dragon's underbelly and stabbed her blade into flesh when she managed to pry a few loose.

The dragon thundered down onto all four legs and let out another ear-piercing shriek. Hawke ducked and stayed under it, stabbing blindly upward while it twisted and lashed out with its tail. Fenris managed to dart in close enough to land several scoring hits against the dragon's flank, though its scales were more heavily armored there and his sword didn't do much damage.

Far too soon, Hawke heard Anders yell "Dragonlings!" before they were besieged upon by a hoard of the dragon's young.

"Shit, I'm too far away, Hawke!" Varric yelled, releasing bolts five, six, and seven at the half-dozen or so dragonlings that scurried into the chamber and headed right for the fighters on the ground. "Go back without me!"

"That is not part of the plan, dwarf!" Hawke shouted, ducking a swipe of the dragon's claws before slashing at its fingers.

"Hawke!" Anders yelled.

Hawke looked over to see Anders' staff spinning in a blur, firing off spell after spell as he was surrounded by four of the little anklebiters who snapped and growled and steadily moved in closer. Hawke swore.

"Fenris, stay on the dragon and try to get beneath it if you can! I'll help Anders keep the dragonlings back!" Hawke called. She wasn't about to risk Fenris trying to outrun fireballs on an injured foot, especially when the dragonlings were fast little buggers and would likely overpower him before he even made it to the door.

"Not part of the plan, Hawke!" Varric sing-songed as he shot bolt number eight at the dragon's wing, tearing the sensitive membrane. Number nine went right in the eye of a dragonling that had been trying to sneak up on Hawke and attempted to take a bite out of her arm.

"Fuck the plan! Just kill these damn things!" she growled.

She slit the injured dragonling's throat before throwing herself in an all-out sprint toward the entrance where Anders was being forced to retreat into the passageway. Hawke felt heat on her back and dove forward just as a fireball shot overhead and hit the doorway right next to Anders. He managed to pull up a barrier at the very last second. Hawke grunted at the impact to her ribs, but they held as she scrambled to her feet and ran-slash-crabwalked toward Anders.

The dragonlings were as big as ponies but far easier to kill considering they didn't breathe flame. It was a matter of keeping out of reach of their claws, but Hawke was able to sever their spines with a practiced twist of her blade or stab them through a vital organ since their scales were still soft in comparison.

The dragon took the death of its young as well as any mother. It shrieked and flapped its injured wings, though it didn't manage to take off or generate enough wind to knock them off their feet. Fenris took Hawke's place beneath the dragon when it lifted up again. His broadsword was able to drive much deeper than her blades had.

"How's it hanging, Anders?" Hawke called out, watching as Anders cracked one dragonling across the jaw with his staff before lifting his left hand and blasting another one away with a concentrated bit of magic.

"It's kind of flopping around a bit right now, Hawke, but thanks for asking."

Hawke cackled out a laugh, adrenaline making her feel light and powerful. "I told you to bring extra smalls before we left!"

"I can't help it. I like to air things out occasionally!"

They had to shout to be heard, but they needed no words when Anders blasted a cone of frost at the last of the dragonlings and Hawke smashed it with the butt of her dagger. With the babies taken care of, the pair of them turned their sights back on the dragon itself. Fenris was evading the dragon's attacks, fazing out and reappearing behind the dragon before ducking back in beneath. They only had a brief respite before the dragon called out again, drawing more of its young into the fray. They needed to take the damn thing out  _now_  before they were overwhelmed.

"Heads up! More dragonlings!" Varric called unnecessarily.

"Forget them! Take out the dragon!" Hawke called out, changing the plan yet again. Who knew how many dragonlings were waiting in reserve? They needed to silence this fucker for good. Hawke glanced up and saw Varric gazing down from the platform. Judging the distance between he and the dragon, she realized.

"Don't you even think about it, Varric! That shit never works out the way you write it in your books!" Hawke yelled up at him.

"I can't let you steal all the best stories for yourself, Hawke!" Varric called back, holstering Bianca. "But perhaps now's not the best time to mention I'm sort of...afraid of heights?"

"Varric, you idiot, get down!"

"That's the plan. All right, I'm going for it! Just keep her steady..."

"Dammit!" Hawke swore, whipping her head around to yell, "Anders! Freeze it!"

"On it!"

Anders concentrated, ignoring the dragonlings fighting to get his attention as he muttered beneath his breath. When he looked up his eyes flashed blue and he froze the dragon in place with a paralyzing glyph right as Varric took a running leap off the platform. Hawke thought her heart stopped. He was suspended in a moment of breathless freefall before he dropped like a stone right onto the dragon's spiny back. Hawke could tell he landed badly, possibly crushing any future chances of them ever reproducing, but he grit his teeth and hung on with one arm wrapped around the dragon's neck as his other went for his knife.

The paralysis spell lasted for only three seconds. The dragon knew immediately it had obtained an unwanted passenger and tried to shake Varric off. He shouted and hung on for dear life as the dragon thrashed. Hawke felt paralyzed herself, but then she saw Fenris start swinging away at the dragon, which prompted her into action.

She was relentless. Her daggers moved in a blur as she fought to end this battle as quickly as possible. Anders retreated and tried to keep the next batch of dragonlings away, but Hawke barely spared them a second of her attention. She couldn't keep an eye on Varric, the dragonlings,  _and_  avoid the dragon's fangs and claws all at the same time. The dragon suddenly gave a great roar of pain. Its head thrashed wildly as it reared up and beat its wings. The powerful gusts buffeted Hawke and Fenris back and Hawke watched helplessly as the dragon launched itself up into the air.

She felt her stomach lurch sickeningly, waiting any moment for Varric's body to come crashing down from a height that no one could possibly survive. The dragon flapped its wings, straining, higher and higher. Hawke could see it building up to release another fireball, which would be impossible to evade at this proximity.

"Hawke! Move!"

Hawke didn't know who had called out, but someone barreled into her right before the dragon collided with the ground right where she'd been standing. She grunted as sharp armor impacted with her shoulder and ribs. She spat white hair out of her mouth and shoved Fenris off of her as she scrambled up to run over to the dragon, which wasn't moving.

It also didn't have a rider anymore.

"Varric!" Hawke yelled, her heart in her throat. A dragonling tried to pounce on her, but Hawke was so frantic that she didn't even care that she'd dropped her daggers. She spun in an arc and kicked the little beast so hard in the head she heard its neck snap. She punched the next one that got in her way as she ran over to the dragon, searching desperately...

"The next time I have the bright idea to ride a dragon, just stop me," Varric groaned, staggering like a drunk from around the dragon's great bulk. "Dwarves stay on the ground for a  _reason_."

"Varric!" Hawke said. A sob of relief escaped her right as she tackled him, knocking him back against the dragon's flank.

"Ow, sweetheart. Watch the jewels," he winced, chuckling as he patted her back.

"I ought to rip them right off of you for that stunt, Varric Tethras! Don't you ever scare me like that again!" Hawke said fiercely. She buried her face in his neck and wrapped her arms around him so tightly that he had trouble breathing. He clung to her just as hard.

"I won't if you won't," he said softly, stroking a hand down her back. Which meant both of them would be pulling some spectacularly stupid stunts in the near future.

"A dwarf dragon rider. Heh," Varric said when Hawke helped him stand back up. "I'd like to see you top that."

"Don't tempt me. I rate that jump a six out of ten. Minus points for scaring me half to death and for the shitty landing. It looks like you won't be riding anything for a while."

Hawke didn't need to tell him how disappointed they both were at the prospect. It was bad enough that her vial of birthbane had been smashed. Varric was definitely standing gingerly, one hand braced on the dragon's hide and the other raised in a 'gimme a second' gesture. Hawke looked over and saw Anders and Fenris take out the remaining two dragonlings before waiting for the next wave of the overgrown lizards. After several fraught minutes, it seemed they were in the clear.

Anders swept his staff overhead and Hawke straightened as most of her aches and weariness faded with his spell. She saw Fenris and Varric straighten as well, though Anders leaned heavily against his staff like a walking stick after that little trick.

"You should not have exerted yourself, mage," Fenris snarled.

"You're welcome," Anders said sarcastically. "For a moment I wasn't sure if we were going to make it. Nice work, Varric, although I agree with Hawke that the landing could use some work."

"Save the day and I still get my balls busted," Varric sighed. "Everyone's a critic."

"Perhaps I should do a...more thorough examination? Just to be certain everything's functioning properly?" Hawke said innocently, not fooling anyone.

"At least do it where we don't have to see this time," Fenris said, flicking blood off his sword before sheathing it.

"No one forced you to watch," Anders said.

"Is that why your eyes were open the whole time, abomination?"

Anders flushed but Hawke noticed he didn't deny it as he turned and walked away to inspect one of the dragonlings, possibly for potion ingredients.

"Well, that's interesting," Varric murmured, eyebrows raised before he directed a smirk at Hawke.

"He's probably lonely being down in that clinic by himself all the time, hiding from templars and the Wardens. That would make anyone stir-crazy," Hawke said.

Varric's eyebrows lowered and he leveled her a  _look_.

"What?" Hawke said defensively.

"Admit it. It turns you on knowing that you're being watched."

"Speak for yourself," Hawke huffed, but Varric only wrapped his arm around her waist and chuckled. "Fuck you, Varric. I take back what I said earlier. Your 'family jewels' can just fall off for all I care."

Varric turned her and backed her up against the dragon. Hawke really hoped the thing was dead because the look he was giving her...

"You care," he said, voice a low rumble as he pressed a kiss to her chest. She couldn't feel it through her leathers, but it didn't matter. The heat of his eyes made her gasp. He kissed down her sternum, skipping over the splatters of dragon blood, and made his way down her belly as he sunk to his knees.

"Varric! Andraste's ass, they're  _right there_."

"Then you'd better keep quiet."

Hawke did not keep quiet, but Anders and Fenris knew better than to investigate anyway. The noise Varric made when he saw that Hawke was wearing the lacy red knickers he'd bought for her in the Hightown market was indescribable. They'd been the only clean pair Hawke had left and she'd been desperate. With their water supplies for the expedition heavily rationed, baths and laundry were out of the question.

Varric didn't seem to mind since he pressed his face right up against her. The thick stubble on his face was the closest she'd ever seen him with a beard and she moaned when the bristles scraped her inner thigh something fierce. He hooked her knee over his shoulder and sucked kissed from her knee all the way up to the soaking wet fabric over her sex that had gone sheer with her desire.

So much for having clean smalls.

He licked and sucked her through the silk, the barrier at once dulling and amplifying the sensation. Her hips bucked forward and she leaned back against the dragon when he cupped her ass and dragged her against his mouth. He didn't bother removing her knickers but instead pushed them aside as he pressed one thick finger into her. He continued the attentions of his tongue and added a second finger, thrusting and sucking until Hawke let out a high-pitched keen and bucked against him. He caught her when Hawke's legs gave out, but Hawke was eager to return the favor and pushed him away so she could have a turn.

She was a little disappointed that he wasn't wearing skimpy silk underthings when she unlaced his trousers, but she might be able to convince him into them yet. He seemed to appreciate them on her at any rate. His scent was strongest between his legs and Hawke took pleasure in nuzzling his balls before taking them into her mouth. She reached up to jack him off with a dry hand at the same time and he leaned back against the dragon with a low groan as he slid a hand into her hair. Hawke switched after a few minutes, tugging at his balls with her hand as she sucked and moaned around his cock until he gave a bitten-off curse and pulsed down her throat.

Hawke pulled back and gazed up at him through her lashes as she licked her swollen lips. He stared at her, looking as if a strong breeze would knock him over. He growled when she winked at him dragged her up for a hard kiss as he leaned down to meet her, sharing in each other's taste.

After she and Varric had made certain each other's essential parts were in proper working order, they took their time getting dressed. Her thighs felt like they had been run over with a cheese grater and pulling on her leathers was so painful that Anders noticed her pitiful gimp and used the very last of his mana to soothe away the ache. If she didn't have dick breath then she might have kissed him. She wasn't able to find the boom rock, which had either been smashed or was trapped underneath the dragon. She mourned its loss and hoped Sandal had a spare.

The group reconvened and cautiously continued up to the podium Varric had leapt off of in a fit of insanity or brilliance. Hawke was inclined to believe the latter. The platform led to a walkway surrounded by giant stone pillars on each side, which stretched out into what appeared to be a deep cavern, but it was too dark to tell.

"Ah, here we go. This goes right where we want it to," Varric said, sounding relieved. "Let's go back and tell Bartrand. He'll be so pleased." Varric's tone implied he expected his brother to be anything but.

"If you say so, then I'm not going to argue." Hawke squinted, peering off into the distance. She couldn't see a blighted thing, but she trusted the dwarven senses that Varric denied having. Mostly, she was tired of walking and was dying for a few days of recuperating back at camp.

"Did you two catch that? 'Hawke said she wasn't going to argue.' I wanted that noted for the record," Varric said teasingly.

"On second thought," Hawke said.

"Ah! No take backs, sweetheart."

"Either way, we need to turn back and re-supply anyway. Unless we want to try seeing if dragon meat is edible?"

"I'll pass," Anders said. "If it's poisonous or gives you...unfortunate...gastric repercussions, then I'm afraid you're on your own. I'm tapped out on mana."

"Damn," Varric said. "And I could probably eat a whole dragon right now, too."

"Riding one wasn't enough for you?" Hawke said.

Or being given a victory blowjob right up against the dragon he'd slain.

"Unfortunately, I never write about myself so I'm afraid the four of us will only ever know of my grand heroics upon this day."

"You just don't want Isabela to find out and make fun of you for the rest of your life," Fenris said.

"That too."

The way back was far quicker since they had already cleared out any major obstacles. Varric carefully collected lyrium ore at Anders' request since even looking at the stuff made him queasy. He explained that he'd be able to brew it into a potion back at camp in order to restore his mana levels.

"Bartrand! We found a way around your damned cave-in!" Varric announced upon their return, arms spread wide to receive adulation.

"It's about time!" Bartrand complained. "Let's move out!" he called to everyone else milling about in camp.

Hawke very nearly kicked him in the family jewels, not caring if she became single-handedly responsible for putting an end to the Tethras line.

"Can we at least rest and get something to eat first? We ran out of supplies days ago," Hawke said, fighting to hold on to her temper. She was sore and tired and filthy and thirsty and starving – none of which made a good combination especially when she was aching for a good, hard fuck on top of everything else.

"These good for nothing louts have been sitting on their asses while you took your sweet time finally finding us a way through. Eat on the road."

"I'd call him a son of a bitch, but that would just be an insult to our mother," Varric said, frowning at Bartrand's back as he snapped out orders and had the caravans and hirelings buzzing into action. "Come on, Hawke. It'll take them a while to get everyone packed and moving."

The four of them demolished nearly a whole crate of rations by the time the wagons were almost ready to get moving. Bodahn found Hawke just as she and Varric were cleaning up and putting together spare packs to replace the ones they had lost.

"You did it! You found my boy! If there's ever anything I can do for you, Messere, you need only ask! I don't know what I would have done if anything happened to him, but you can bet I'll be keeping a close eye on Sandal from now on. You have my word."

"Actually, Sandal was the one who saved all of our asses back there. If not for his magic rock none of us would be alive now," Hawke said.

"My boy does love his enchantments, but how he makes these things I'll never know."

"I've never seen another dwarf like him. Does this ability run in your family?"

"Not at all, but Sandal isn't really my son. I found him in the Deep Roads when I left Orzammar for good. Raised him as my own, though. He's always been this way. Always collecting things and enchanting them. Strange, I suppose."

"He's quite useful to have around."

"I've always said so. If you'd like, the next time we make camp I'm sure he would be more than happy to enchant a few things for you. Just come find us later."

"Thank you. I'll be sure to do that."

Hawke watched him go, shaking her head with a little smile.

"That's some boy he has there," Varric said. "What he did...shouldn't have been possible for a dwarf since we're all immune to magic. It's why we can handle raw lyrium with almost no side-effects."

"Well, whatever the reason for his ability, it's to our benefit. I intend to take him up on his offer," Hawke said, returning to her pack. "Shit!" she swore a few minutes later, tearing through the bag. She upended its entire contents onto the ground and scattered the resulting mess in her frantic search. "Shit! Fuck!"

"Uh…lose something, Hawke?" Varric asked cautiously.

"I can't believe it's not here! I  _swore_  I brought more! Fuck!"

"Wanna clue me in, babe? Maybe I can help."

"I can't find the bottle of birthbane!" Hawke wailed. She knelt and shook out her pack one more time before she gave an angry cry and threw it to the ground in a fit of despair. "I am  _not_  going months, or however long we're stuck down in this pit of doom, without fucking you!"

Hawke didn't even care if the entire camp heard her. She fisted her hair and leaned into Varric when he knelt next to her and put his hand on her shoulder.

" _Shit_ ," Varric seconded with feeling. "Maybe Blondie or Bodahn has some?"

Hawke dropped her hands and leveled a stare at him. "Varric. I'm the only female on this expedition. Unless you were planning to share, what reason would Anders or Bodahn possibly have for carrying birthbane? Unless there's more going on under Anders' robes than we thought, but I highly doubt that."

Varric sighed, low and deep, and reached for Hawke's bag as he started methodically repacking her things. Hawke sat back on her heels and watched him, chewing anxiously on a hangnail as she stewed on their dilemma.

"Well, the way I see it we only have two options," she said.

"Let's leave the abstinence to Choir Boy. What else did you have in mind?"

"There's no helping it: Mouth or ass?"

Varric choked out a laugh. "Yours or mine?"

"Don't tempt me, dwarf."

"I think we have a few more options than that, Hawke. We'll just have to get…creative."

Hawke frowned at him. "You know I don't mind ass stuff, Varric. You're the one that goes all demure and scandalized whenever I try and stick a finger in, you baby."

"And I keep telling you that's an exit only," Varric said, eyes tracking one of the hirelings that lingered a little too long within earshot. Hawke would bet ten sovereigns this bit of information would find its way around camp and even make it back to Bartrand by the time they made camp again. As if he needed any more reason to think his brother was being horribly corrupted by his human whore.

"Hm. I wouldn't be opposed to another threesome," Hawke said, not bothering to suppress her smirk as they both stood. "I just remembered there  _is_  actually one other lady on this trip…"

"Sorry, Hawke. Nobody touches my baby except for me. Not even you."

"So all those times you called me 'baby' and 'sweetheart' were just for show?" Hawke set her pack down onto the back of a wagon before turning back to him. She frowned, crossing her arms over her chest and cocking her hip out with attitude.

"Don't take it personally. Bianca's a sensitive girl. She only responds to my touch on her trigger."

"I'd bet she respond to mine," Hawke purred, leaning against the lip of the wagon as Varric boxed her in with his hands braced on either side of her hips. She reached out to trail a finger down his cheek, smooth again after they'd gotten cleaned up and he had a shave. "Just like her master does."

"Hawke..." he groaned, pressing up against her.

She was about to lean down for a kiss when suddenly the wagon lurched forward. She windmilled wildly for a heart-stopping second, but Varric grabbed her around the waist and pulled her back before she fell on her ass.

"My hero," Hawke gasped, arms tight around his neck as she tried to calm the mad pounding of her heart.

Of course, Varric had to respond by literally sweeping her off her feet into a bridal carry. Hawke yelped indignantly but muffled a giggle when he pressed a kiss to her throat. She squeezed her arms around his neck and hid her face against his shoulder with a wide grin.

"Always, Hawke," he said, his breath warm against her cheek. Hawke turned her head, a hair away from kissing him, before a thought occurred to her.

"Wait! My pack!"

Varric just laughed when Hawke squirmed out of his arms and went chasing after the wagon as it lumbered off without them.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let's just assume each chapter's probably going to include way too much TMI or gory details at some point. I am grossly detail-oriented, so we'll just get that out of the way now. XD Also, when I realized the direction this story was going I had every intention of glossing over the Deep Roads expedition and jumping right to the part where everyone's recovering from their trauma and super rich. Unfortunately, I'm addicted to drama and fucking with characters in every way possible so that didn't quite work out as planned. #sorrynotsorry
> 
> Bear with me. This is not going to be a quick or easy ride, darlings. 
> 
> Warning for attempted suicide as a means of evading capture.

Bartrand and the rest of his hirelings followed Hawke's group up to the chamber with the dead dragon, which was still there and still very much dead. Just to be a dick, Hawke hadn't even mentioned the dragon and let Bartrand come face to face with the thing on his own. Hawke, Varric, and Anders had nearly pissed themselves laughing at his high-pitched shriek and flurry of furious swearing, and even Fenris had cracked a smirk. Bartrand had an even worse sense of humor than Gamlen, but he forgot all about his irritation once Varric led him into the ancient thaig.

"Holy shit," Varric breathed, adding a few extra syllables on for good measure.

"Is this what you were expecting?" Hawke said, also in a whisper. All she could see were piles of rubble and several crystal-like formations of lyrium, but the place just felt  _old_  and demanded an odd sort of reverence that made her want to hold her breath.

"I thought...an abandoned thaig, something old, but...what is this?" Bartrand said, even more awed. "I grew up hearing scavenger tales. After the Third Blight. A week below the surface, they said, but nobody believed them."

"Looks like they were right," Varric said.

"Make camp here!" Bartrand bellowed, startling their party into a collective flinch after all the hushed whispers. "We need to look around."

Hawke eyed the ceiling warily lest the stone take offense at Bartrand's volume and cave in on them out of spite. She spent several fruitless hours sifting through rubble and trying not to knock over any columns holding the damn place up. Other than more rocks and dwarven architecture, Hawke returned empty-handed, as did everyone else. The thaig was huge, though, and they hadn't even covered a fraction of the area.

"I don't get it. Nothing in this thaig makes sense," Bartrand said.

"It's old. Dwarven. Full of rocks. What's not to get?" Hawke said.

"We're well below the Deep Roads. Whatever dwarves lived here, they came long before the First Blight. But where are the statues of Paragons? I don't recognize these markings on the wall or anything in the rubble."

"Who knows how old these ruins are? Maybe your people were different back then."

Hawke couldn't tell the difference between thaigs, only that this one was darker and dustier. Nothing really stood out to her in particular, but then again she wasn't exactly a dwarven archivist or historian. She just didn't expect Bartrand to be either.

"I know enough about our history to know we haven't changed much. Dwarves have been mired in tradition for many ages," Bartrand said. "These dwarves might have been unique. If so, I hope they kept their valuables close at hand."

 _That_  was more along the lines of what she'd come to expect from Bartrand. She hoped to find more than some grandmother's cracked vase; otherwise, she was going to be seriously pissed off about fighting darkspawn and dragons for no reason. She'd known upfront there were no guarantees of finding treasure in the Deep Roads, but at this point Hawke had invested her blood, sweat, and tears into this venture and damned if  _something_  better not make this all have been worthwhile. She took a break from exploring and tracked down Bodahn and Sandal, figuring she may as well resupply and see what other surprises Sandal had in store.

"Hello!" Sandal said when he saw her, eyes just as blue and smile just as bright as ever.

"I owe you a great debt for finding him," Bodahn said despite Hawke's protests that Sandal had been fine and that he found his way back without their help. "I will repay it somehow - I swear my life on it!"

"No need. I'm glad Sandal was all right," Hawke demurred. Usually, she wasn't one to turn down a reward, but as far as she was concerned  _she_  was the one who owed the Feddics any sort of debt.

"Because of you!" Bodahn insisted. "You will not regret this. Say 'thank you' to the nice lady for saving your life, Sandal."

Sandal must have gotten a very strict talking-to once he returned back to camp because Hawke feared the boy might very well burst into tears. Her heart leapt into her throat at his forlorn expression. Even though Hawke had no motherly instincts to speak of she still flailed inwardly. She had the irrepressible urge to take him under her wing and smother him and croon until his sweet smile returned.

Her heart just about broke at his quiet, "Thank you."

"I...ah...I think you mentioned something about enchantments?" Hawke said desperately to Bodahn, not taking her eyes off Sandal.

"Enchantment?" Sandal exclaimed in apparent ecstasy, his somber demeanor instantly lighting up with excitement. "Enchantment!"

"Yes, enchantment," Hawke laughed, allowing herself to be dragged over to whatever apparatus he used for his enchantments. He had a chest covered in incomprehensible runes containing a variety of tools ranging from a travel-sized hammer and anvil to tiny lockpick-like devices along with an assortment of crystals and other seemingly random objects.

"All right. Let's see what you can do," Hawke said, handing over her daggers after Bodahn nodded encouragingly. At least Hawke got his guardian's permission first  _before_  handing sharp objects over to a child. She was learning.

"Varric! Come here! Sandal can enchant Bianca!" Hawke hollered. Her previous reverence for the thaig was all but forgotten as her first dagger sparked with forks of electricity. She didn't know where Varric had gotten off to, but the thaig had impressive acoustics and she immediately heard him call back.

"I told you already, Hawke. No one touches-"

"She'll be able to set things on fire!"

"...Be right there!"

Hawke grinned as a curious crowd of onlookers began to surround Sandal as he worked quickly and expertly. He installed rune stones in both of her daggers, Bianca, and Anders' staff before infusing extra protections into their armor as well. Fenris stayed back and didn't offer his own greatsword or armor to the dwarven enchanter no matter that there was - probably - no magic involved. The only enchanting Hawke had ever seen done was by the Tranquil mages from the Circle who offered enchantments in the Gallows' courtyard, and they were also cut off from magic.

Still, there was something undeniably magical about the process and she watched, rapt, as her weapons transformed beneath Sandal's expert care. The first time Hawke held her dagger inset with an electricity rune she didn't need to hear Varric's guffaw to know her hair was standing on end. She could feel the buzz all the way up her arm, numbing her fingers to the point where she was unable to remove them from around the hilt right away.

"Uh..." Hawke said.

"Apologies, Messere," Bodahn said, quick to assure her. "I forgot to warn you about the initial discharge, but I promise it goes away. Just be careful not to touch the metal directly."

"Great. Does this mean Bianca may or may not explode when I pick her up? Dammit, Hawke! I should have known better than to trust you with my favorite girl," Varric groused.

"Watch it, Varric. You forget I know where you sleep at night," Hawke said, lifting her dagger warningly and baring her teeth in a grin when it crackled.

"Oh no, it's nothing like that," Bodahn said. "Ice and fire runes are usually no problem at all. See?"

He picked up Hawke's second completed dagger with no apparent issue and held it out for Hawke to take. She reached for it gingerly, still expecting to be shocked or frozen or exploded for her trouble. She was pleasantly surprised when all she felt were cool tendrils of frost against the back of her hand. Varric and Anders and a few of the hirelings Hawke hadn't bothered to learn the names of gathered in close to ooh and aah over her enchanted weapons.

"I bet I can keep drinks cold now," Hawke said. "Or do some really interesting things in bed with either of these. Anders! Let me see if I can do the electricity thing!"

"No way, Hawke!" Anders said, already beginning to back away.

"Don't run with-! For the love of Andraste," Varric shouted when Hawke took off after Anders, cackling madly and chasing him with both her daggers.

Once all of their weapons and armor had been upgraded - free of charge since Bodahn refused to take a single coin from Hawke or her companions – they retrieved their packs and went exploring into some of the deeper caverns.

"Bartrand is far more enthralled with this place than you are," Hawke observed after they'd been walking for however long. Eternity, according to the blisters on her feet. Varric sighed every ten minutes or so and she didn't think he even realized he was doing it. "What's the matter? Feeling dwarfier by the second?"

"Unlike him, I wasn't born in Orzammar. I wouldn't even be down here if there wasn't profit in it," Varric said, kicking a bit of gravel with his boot. "This entire place gives me the chills. Let's hope it's worth it."

"It can't get any worse than ogres and dragons, right?" Hawke teased just to hear Anders' outraged squawk.

Hawke didn't know if shades and stone golems were necessarily an improvement when they slid down a steep incline right into a nest of the damn things, but at least no one was tempted to  _ride_  one.

"Who thought this was a good idea?" Anders complained, blasting right through a shade with a fireball twice its usual size thanks to Sandal's enchantment on his staff.

"Nose goes!" Hawke declared, quickly touching her middle finger to her nose. She nearly poked an eye out with her dagger, which crackled warningly.

Anders sighed and tapped his own nose, as did Varric without any prompting.

"Dammit, Fenris! I  _knew_  this was your fault!" Hawke called, more than happy to heckle the too-serious elf. Fenris had a secure, two-handed grip on his sword and he growled as he cleaved a shade down the middle before pivoting on the ball of his foot and swinging at the golem.

"A little less talking, Hawke," he said gruffly as his sword bounced off the golem with an almighty  _clang_. "I could really use that boom rock of yours about now."

"Sorry. A dragon ate it," she said, leaning away from the swipe of a shade's claws that came within inches of her throat. She stabbed her frosted blade right into where its heart would be and the shade contorted with a silent howl as ice raced through its featureless form and froze it completely solid. Hawke removed her frost blade and stuck it with the other one. She nearly got blasted in the face when the shade statue exploded, but quickly ducked and covered her head with her arms.

"Ha! Did you see that?!" Hawke declared, still in a crouch. "Fucking  _awesome_! I told you that you should have gotten your sword enchanted, Fenris!"

Fenris just grunted.

"Hey, Anders! Try one of those fireballs on the golem," Varric said, just as he cocked and aimed Bianca right at it. "I'd duck if I were you, Broody."

Fenris had been chipping away at the golem, though his plain, unenchanted weapon wasn't making much headway. Fenris swore and quickly took cover as Varric and Anders' fire strikes hit the golem at the same time. Hawke cheered as it exploded into flaming chunks of rock and gravel.

"Let's find something else to set on fire!" she said excitedly, barely waiting for everyone else to regroup before bounding down the pass.

The cavern was lit by stones that glowed red and blue but when they shoved open a doorway to enter another section of the thaig Hawke was glad to see the lava channels lighting and warming their path again. They entered a chamber that looked exactly like every other part of the Deep Roads she'd seen before, with the exception of an altar in the middle of a dais where a twisted, glowing statue sat.

"You see what I'm seeing?" Varric said with an incredulous laugh.

"Is that...lyrium?" Hawke asked as they approached the dais. She cocked her head and regarded the statue skeptically.

"It's definitely magic. And not the good kind," Anders warned.

"I was not aware there was a good kind of magic," Fenris drawled.

"Doesn't look like any kind of lyrium I've ever seen," Varric said, looking to Hawke for confirmation. She just shrugged. The statue didn't seem any more valuable to her than Varric's chamberpot back at home. She was hoping for something a little more...golden. Or at least silver at this point.

"Look at this, Bartrand," Varric called.

Hawke hadn't realized they were being followed when she turned around and saw Bartrand enter the room. Suspicious, nosy bastard. Of  _course_  he would let them go first and do all the fighting alone while he coasted on through afterward. Hawke wasn't convinced that he could fight, suspecting the axes strapped to his back were only for show.

"What is it?" Bartrand demanded.

"An idol made out of pure lyrium, I think. Could be worth a fortune."

"You could be right. Excellent find."

Hawke turned back to the statue and reached out to pick it up even though she really should know better than to go around touching strange objects. She saw what pure lyrium had done to Anders. She could almost swear she could hear a whisper of voices rising up as she reached for the statue, but they cut off as soon as her fingers curled around the statue and picked it up off the altar. It was heavy – and ugly - but she didn't experience any of the sickening sensation Anders did coming in contact with the substance. Upon closer inspection, Hawke was able to discern the shape of two emaciated, tortured figures twisted together within the strange shape of the idol. She grimaced, handing it over to Varric.

"Not bad," Varric said, checking it over. "We'll take a look around, see if there's anything further in."

He tossed the idol carelessly down the stairs to Bartrand, because that was how one generally handled priceless artifacts older than dwarfkind itself. Luckily, Bartrand was better at catching than he was at not being a cantankerous asshole and he snatched the idol out of the air without incident.

"You do that," Hawke thought she heard Bartrand murmur, but she and the others had already turned away.

She should have known better than to turn her back on Varric's weasel of a brother. She whipped around when she heard the grating sound of rusted metal as the heavy door to the chamber slowly swung shut on its ancient hinges with Bartrand already on the other side.

"The door!" Hawke cried, bolting down the stairs.

Despite her long legs, the door slammed shut just as Hawke ran into it. She pounded the sturdy stone and metal with her fists. There were no handles or hinges on this side of the door to grab or take apart, she realized with dismay.

"Bartrand! It's shut behind you!" Varric yelled, catching up to Hawke in a close second.

To Hawke's bewilderment and fury, she heard laughter on the other side.

"You always did notice everything, Varric," Bartrand called back in a definite taunt.

"Are you joking? You're going to screw over your own brother for a lousy idol?"

"I bet he's been waiting for his chance this entire time. The idol was just an excuse," Hawke snarled, slamming her fist against the door hard enough to bruise her hand.

The door didn't budge.

"It's not just the idol. The location of this thaig alone is worth a fortune, and I'm not splitting that three ways. Sorry, Brother."

Bartrand's voice became distant like he was actually walking away. Like he was actually leaving them there to rot in this…in this  _tomb_.

"Bartrand!  _Bartrand_! I swear, I will find that son of a bitch - sorry, Mother - and I will kill him!" Varric raged.

Hawke put a hand on his shoulder and pulled him away from the door. Fury and panic ate away at her own gut but she knew someone had to keep a level head. "Forget him. There's got to be another way out of here. At least we brought our packs so we won't have to resort to eating you for a while yet."

Varric allowed himself to be drawn back though his mouth was still drawn tight and his body was coiled with tension. "Why do I get eaten first in this scenario?"

"You have the most meat," Fenris said.

Which was true. Hawke, Anders, and Fenris were all lanky and probably tasted stringy and tough. Varric was thick with heavy muscle and a comfortable layer of padding which definitely made him the prime candidate to serve as an entrée.

"I call dibs on the shoulder cut," Anders said. "On second thought...his rump's probably pretty tender."

"Especially since he sits on it all day," Hawke teased. "Writing or whatever."

"I was thinking more of the dragon's spines having doubled as a tenderizer."

"His liver has more iron," Fenris pointed out.

"Yeah, but it's probably fermented at this point," Hawke said.

"I can't believe you're already planning to eat me!" Varric exclaimed, glowering at them indignantly. "I thought you were my friends but instead I end up trapped with a bunch of cannibals."

"It's nothing personal," Anders assured him quickly, but then added, "None of us are dwarves, so technically it might not count as cannibalism?"

"I am a  _person_ , Blondie," Varric declared, pressing a hand to his chest as they all moved away from the door and back up the dais where they had found that blighted statue. "If you cut me, do I not bleed as well?"

"I'm pretty sure you bleed ink, Varric," Hawke said, hooking an arm around his shoulders. "Or ale. It's kind of a toss-up at this point."

"You're one to talk," he grumbled, but he wrapped an arm around her waist. He didn't look back toward the door or visibly stew over the fact his brother had left them to die so Hawke counted the distraction a success. Now, if only they found a way out so they didn't actually have to resort to cannibalism.

They still had Anders' maps, but they didn't do much good since the ancient thaig wasn't recorded on a single one. Considering no one in living memory even knew of its existence as anything other than rumors and wives' tales, the chances of them being rescued were incredibly slim. Bartrand had obviously gotten what he'd come for and had no need for maps or for  _them._ It would be easy enough for him to follow the tracks and camps their large group had left behind to find his way back to the surface. Unless he had an unlikely change of heart there was no reason for him to come back. They had worn out their usefulness and Hawke didn't plan to paw at the door like a dog waiting for its master to come home.

The shades and golems that seemed like sport before only became exhausting as they came at their group in wave after wave. Every time they opened a new door or went down a new path, it seemed like there were only more waiting for them. When those familiar opponents gave way to creatures Varric called rock wraiths, Hawke barely blinked her exhausted eyes before launching herself into an endless cycle of attack and defend until nothing was left standing.

Every move soon became ingrained and her body moved without any input from her brain. She, Varric, Anders, and Fenris had become attuned to each other in battle; a barrier would shimmer into place around Hawke and Fenris as they charged, a flaming bolt flew like it'd been summoned to strike down enemy at someone's flank; a blade always appeared in the back of a shade creeping up behind Varric; a lyrium-bright hand would tear through a stone chest before a wraith's blows could break past Anders' spells.

Whenever they had a moment to rest they slept in an exhausted pile together, often collapsing without even removing their armor first. They snuck the weariest of them extra rations or only pretended to take a sip from the waterskin before passing it along. They took turns on watch but didn't exactly have a way of knowing how much time passed in order to break up shifts evenly. Hawke tried counting out each second, each minute, but she'd lose track around fifteen minutes in and have to start all over again.

Eventually, she gave up altogether and stayed awake at her post until each blink threatened to become longer and longer no matter if she was standing or sitting on the most uncomfortable rock she could find. At least until a gentle touch on her shoulder startled her into a state of bright-eyed and fucking bushy-tailed, heart pounding and a dagger appearing in each hand. Whoever was to be her relief would pretend not to notice and instead give her a faint nod (Fenris), an anemic smile (Anders), or a gentling kiss (Varric). No matter who it was, they'd sit with her in silence until the adrenaline leeched away and left her even more exhausted than before. Later, she would be nudged toward the tangle of limbs on a single, threadbare bedroll on the stone ground that looked more inviting than a mattress made of clouds.

Hawke didn't know how long they slogged through an endless cycle of walking, fighting, and vacant staring that was supposed to pass as rest. Eventually, a demon in the form of one of these rock wraiths - or profane, as it referred to the much smaller rock creatures as - suddenly appeared to break up the monotony. In exchange for being left alone to continue feeding off the profane, it offered them a way out.

Fenris' and Anders' immediate warnings and refusals and bickering despite agreeing on the same damn point were more irritating than she could stand. Hawke grit her teeth and punched the fucking demon right in the floating fragments of the skull that made up its face just to get everyone to shut up. Admittedly, the demon did have the most beguiling voice, rumbling and deep.

The demon, of course, took offense to being punched in the face.

They ended up with an even bigger fight on their hands when it summoned more profane and shades to aid in its attack. Even with Sandal's enchantments, they were already stretched to their limits after however many days or weeks of aimless wandering compounded with increasingly smaller rations and broken sleep cycles.

"I really hope I didn't just screw up our chances of getting out of here," Hawke muttered after the fight. Ransacking the demon's remains turned up nothing but fragments of bone and dust rather than the key it had tempted them with.

"You made the right call," Anders assured her. "Demons will trip you up every time."

"He  _sounded_  nice enough," Hawke said. "He had the kind of voice that I wouldn't mind falling asleep to at night. Possibly while reading me bedtime stories."

"Varric. The Arishok. Now a hunger demon? I'm sensing a pattern, Hawke," Anders chided, ticking each one off on his fingers.

"I'm a slut for voices. So what? If Fenris gargled glass and shark teeth every now and then he'd make the list, too."

"I'll pass," Fenris said, deliberately making his voice as low and dry as possible. Hawke didn't even have to feign a shiver.

"You mean I could have just talked at you this whole time without even lifting a finger?" Varric said. "And I thought relationships were supposed to be complicated."

"Oh, no. It's far too late for that, Varric. You reached the point of no return after you started buying me knickers."

"At least you're wearing knickers," Fenris said, glaring at Anders.

"Or I  _was_..." Hawke purred.

Hawke pretended not to notice the way Varric's dull, bruised eyes lit up with interest. It felt like ages since she had gotten good and properly fucked. Neither of them had been able to even think about sex after Bartrand's betrayal. Instead, they focused on finding a way out before they were either killed, starved to death, or Anders and Fenris' fighting drove Hawke into committing mass murder. She was tempted to lock the two of them in a room together so they could hopefully sort out their differences, but she would settle for being locked in a room with Varric for a few uninterrupted minutes instead.

The doorway leading out of the chamber was thankfully unlocked, which was a weight off Hawke's mind, though it didn't magically open and deposit them outside. Instead, there were even more creatures waiting to pounce on them. Hawke wouldn't need to practice for  _years_  after this expedition. Her body moved on autopilot as did those of her companions. She and Fenris waited for the initial blast from Varric's crossbow and Anders' staff before finishing off whatever opponents remained standing - if not slightly charred - with quick, brutal efficiency.

They couldn't afford to waste energy or take unnecessary risks. Soon, even Varric's stories and Anders' and Fenris' squabbling dried up, throats too parched to do more than rasp painfully. She and Varric didn't have that much spit to swap between them even for temporary relief, mouths tacky and sour and lips cracked to the point of bleeding. Her skin felt parchment-dry and it was getting increasingly harder to resist chugging the scant remainder of liquid left when they passed around one of their few remaining waterskins whose contents were more precious than gold.

"What is this place?" Hawke wondered aloud when they entered a cavern unlike any they'd come across before.

There were pillars of stone that grew straight from the ground and up into the ceiling with veins of glowing red rock wrapped around each base, branching out to climb up the high walls. She expected Varric to claim ignorance regarding anything clearly dwarven in nature, but his reply was entirely matter-of-fact.

"This is the vault. The dwarves would have brought their..."

He cut himself off when they heard the shifting of stone behind them, too deliberate to be a rockslide. They slowly turned around to watch the biggest rock wraith they had seen yet take form, standing three times the size of the demon Hawke had punched out earlier.

Apparently, it had come back bigger and  _angrier_.

"Oh, that can't be good," Varric said, nearly having to do a full backbend in order to stare up at the towering rock wraith.

It let out a roar that blew Hawke's hair away from her face before she could even snap out of her shock and take cover. The wraith disintegrated in a cloud of rock and dust as a fireball flew over Hawke's shoulder and struck it right in the chest.

"Sorry. No bedtime stories this time, Hawke," Anders said, spinning his staff as he crouched in a ready stance.

"Oddly enough, I'm okay with that."

Foolishly, Hawke thought the wraith had been taken care of, but it appeared several yards away from where it had last stood and quickly reassembled itself.

"Let's put this thing to bed," she said.

Hawke grabbed the last remaining combustion grenade she had bought from Bodahn to replace the loss of Sandal's boom rock and lobbed it at the wraith. It didn't even seem to notice when the grenade detonated at its feet, losing nothing more than a few pebble-sized chunks from its legs.

Varric and Anders assailed it with their various pyrokinetics while Hawke and Fenris dodged the bolts of energy the wraith flung at them and waited for their opening. The wraith seemed to be slow-moving, which was a relief, until it disappeared and fucking  _teleported_  to the other end of the cavern. Apparently, it didn't even need legs to be a pain in the ass. She and Fenris sprinted toward the wraith, ready for their turn while Anders and Varric recharged or reloaded. Instead of immediately attacking them, the wraith hovered mid-air and curled up on itself, shaking...but not exactly trembling with fear.

"Hawke! Get away from there!" Anders yelled, already pulling Varric behind the cover of a pillar. "It's about to explode!"

The cracks in the wraith's stone carapace glowed molten as if it were charging up for something. Hawke froze, curiosity and panic getting the best of her until Fenris' clawed gauntlet wrapped around her wrist. He nearly yanked her arm out of its socket as he turned and ran in the opposite direction. He swung her at the pillar just as the wraith blasted out a blinding red light that filled every inch of the cavern with a deafening sound and crackle of electricity. Varric's arms caught her around the waist before she went crashing to the ground, narrowly escaping the charged rays of light. She couldn't see, but distantly heard Fenris' agonized yell as he was caught in the wave.

"Fenris!" she shouted, shoving her hand in Varric's face but he held on tightly to keep her from running out from behind their meager protection. The light show didn't last longer than a few seconds but it may as well have been eternity.

The wraith powered down and Hawke squirmed out of Varric's hold, blinking back afterimages as she reached out blindly and smacked her hands against the pillar. Fenris couldn't have gotten too far away, and she found him by tripping over him. He was slumped at the base of the pillar, eyes squeezed shut with his skin cracked and red from severe burns.

"Anders!" Hawke called. She scrabbled up on her knees with her hands hovering over Fenris' too-hot face, afraid to touch and hurt him further.

"Already on it," Anders said as he lifted a hand and bathed Fenris in a soft blue light.

The lines of strain eased around Fenris' mouth and his startling green eyes snapped open. Hawke didn't even manage to get a word out when he roughly shoved her aside.

"Hey!" she yelled right before a pair of claws slashed right into the stone where her head had been.

Fenris was up on feet and grabbed for his greatsword as he charged at one of the many profane that had risen after the wraith's explosion. Hawke lost sight of the wraith, though how one could lose a creature of that size was anyone's guess. She shook herself off and jumped to her feet to stab at the nearest profane while Anders and Varric also came out from behind the pillar to take their shots.

"It's reforming!" Fenris called out as several large boulders slid across the ground toward a growing mass of energy in the center of the cavern.

"Don't let it!" Hawke yelled. She holstered her daggers and made a grab for one of the passing boulders only to end up being dragged along for the ride. "Shit!"

Anders, Fenris, and Varric attacked the source directly but to little or no avail. The wraith completed its formation and curled up into that false fetal position again, shaking as it built up its next charge.

"Take cover!" Varric called even though he stubbornly didn't move until he was certain Hawke had ducked behind another pillar. She had her hand wrapped firmly around Fenris' as she shoved him behind her. Hawke braced herself for the explosion, closing her eyes and covering her ears…or trying to.

Fenris suddenly grabbed her wrist and yelled, "Hawke, we're not-"

His words were lost in a bitten off yell as the electric storm caught them both up in its path. Hawke thought her jaw would shatter with how tightly her teeth clenched around a scream. She barely felt the delicate bones in her wrist snap as Fenris' fingers convulsed. The wave went on and on - scalding, searing, and electrifying her flesh even through her protective armor. Had she not had her eyes squeezed shut, Hawke was certain her eyeballs would have been fried out of her skull.

The abrupt absence of light felt like being dunked in an ice-cold bath. She only had an instant of relief before every single one of her nerve endings lit up in agony. Her legs couldn't hold her and she felt more than heard herself give a shrill cry as she slumped against the pillar. The stone pressing her leather armor to her back felt like a thousand white-hot needles being driven into her body and she jerked away, unable to bear even the faintest whisper of air against her skin. Fenris finally released her wrist and crumpled to the ground next to her.

Hawke was blind and deaf, numb to anything else except pain. She could feel the burn of her lungs fighting for air, the scrape of dry sobs against her throat, but she couldn't move for fear that her skin would simply slough off in chunks, leaving behind raw, exposed nerves. She felt a touch against her hand and cried out, flinching back as she tried to ward off help or an attack.

"-awke!" she heard a muffled voice say - possibly the third or tenth repetition. She moaned and turned her head toward the voice, unable to do more than whimper until she felt the familiar cool tingling of Anders' healing spell.

The relief was so instantaneous and profound that her brain hadn't yet released her nerves from the sensation of remembered trauma. She flinched when someone touched her shoulder and curled in on herself until her face brushed against her knees. She sucked in desperate, ragged breaths until the ringing in her ears faded and only then did she make the valiant attempt to open her eyes.

Varric was kneeling at her side with his crossbow in hand, face drawn with palpable worry. Anders and Fenris were already gone. She heard the sound of battle, of steel and flame against stone, and had to wonder at Fenris' ability to recover in the aftermath of torture. His tolerance...or suppression...of pain was almost unreal. Varric's curses over the sound of his crossbow firing was a comfort but also a reminder that they weren't in the clear yet.

"Help me up," she croaked, scrabbling against the stone as she tried to gain control over her shaking limbs. "Hel- **ah**!" Hawke cut off with a strangled cry as she put weight down on her right hand, forgetting for a brief instant that Fenris had accidentally snapped her wrist.

"What? What is it?" Varric demanded, lowering Bianca from where he'd been shooting at any visible targets from around the pillar.

His hand hovered over her shoulder as Hawke immediately resisted the urge to grab her wrist and cradle it protectively. She had no doubt that Varric would pull Anders away from battle to tend to her instead. Anders must not have realized she'd broken it when he'd cast his healing spell. He repaired the surface burns she and Fenris had both sustained but breaks needed concentrated focus which meant more mana than Anders could afford to waste on her.

They currently had bigger problems - like the profane and the giant wraith that could reassemble at any time. Hawke's daggers, enchanted or not, had made little difference against opponents made out of stone, whereas Varric and Anders' attacks had a far greater impact. She wasn't about to risk sidelining their best player so Anders could play nursemaid to her.

"N-Nothing," Hawke grit out and used Varric's arm to laboriously drag herself back up. "Realized I probably just pissed my last pair of smalls."

"You aren't the only one," Varric said, bracing an arm around her waist. He left it there instead of getting back to the fight even after she could stand on her own.

She gently shoved him away and reached for the dagger on her left hip. She bit back a whimper at the crackle of electricity that danced harmlessly across her fingers as she wrapped them around the hilt. The sensation of being electrocuted was still too fresh. She made herself curl the uncooperative fingers of her right hand around the other dagger, hoping the chill that emanated from the blade would ease some of the agony shooting up her arm. She didn't have a chance of actually fighting with it, but holding both daggers made her feel slightly more balanced.

The profane were obviously a distraction while the big one recharged. Anders and Fenris had already taken out most of the stone creatures by the time Hawke staggered around to case the battle scene.

She ventured close to the one pillar that actually provided any protection against the wraith's discharge, determined that she wouldn't be caught off guard a second time. The three men launched a full assault when the wraith started pulling itself back together while Hawke helplessly kept out of the way, feeling angry and frustrated at her lack of usefulness. Her daggers were already in terrible shape after using them on golems, profane, and wraiths; the metal was dulled and pitted after continually chipping away at rock.

She would have been of more use with a pickaxe but unfortunately she'd left that back with her clean pair of pants. She didn't know how many jolts the wraith had left but Varric would soon be running out of bolts, which were unfortunately destroyed upon impact due to the combustive nature of the fire rune. Anders only had so much mana to expend and his eyes were already flickering blue around the edges. The sheer force behind Fenris' greatsword only had marginally more impact than Hawke's daggers without the added benefit of being enchanted.

"Take cover!" Hawke shouted when the wraith prepared for another blast, even though her companions were already running back in her direction. She reached out and hugged Varric and Fenris to her sides, holding them close while Anders crowded in as they waited out the next jarring wave. It was the first time none of them had gotten caught in the crossfire so Hawke felt pretty relieved by that fact.

"Forget the profane! Take out the big one while it's weak!" Hawke called out.

She pushed them away the instant the light faded and all four of them ran toward the wraith. It felt like the dragon all over again, forcing themselves to ignore the smaller targets in favor of taking out the source once and for all. The wraith hadn't formed its stone armor yet so Hawke leapt over the pile of rubble and stabbed directly at the floating skull and kinetic energy that made up its core. Ice and electricity raced up her arms, reacting to the wraith's power. She ignored the pain of her broken wrist, determined to end this one way or another. A green barrier formed around her just as Fenris' sword came down and Varric's last bolt impacted with the wraith.

The explosion was immediate. Rocks bigger than Hawke pinged off the barrier and Fenris' brands lit up as the wraith's remains sailed harmlessly through him. The barrier flickered and disappeared immediately afterward and Hawke saw Anders drop to his knees, breathing hard. The profane disassembled, no longer buoyed by the wraith's power. The chamber rang with deafening silence as the dust settled.

"All right there, Blondie?" Varric asked, helping Anders up with a hand around his forearm.

"Yes, but I'm afraid that last spell took everything out of me. I hope no one's seriously injured?"

Hawke's fractured wrist was  _screaming_  at her and she couldn't make her fingers unclench from around the hilt of her dagger. "I'm fine," she said dismissively. "But I vote we rest here for a while before going on, even if it is a dwarven crypt for rock giants, or whatever."

"Vault," Varric corrected. "The rock wraiths are supposed to be dwarven legends. They're not even supposed to be real!"

"Felt pretty real to me," Fenris said. "I'm in favor of making camp as well."

"You can just let me down here," Anders said to Varric. "I think I'll be able to sleep for an entire week after that fight. I already used the last of my lyrium potion days ago otherwise I'd at least build us a fire first."

It was cold in the cavern and trees or firewood didn't exist in the Deep Roads. Hawke's skin still recalled the crackle of electricity charring her skin and didn't mind the lack of fire so much at the moment.

"Don't strain yourself," Hawke said. "Go ahead and rest up. I need to piss like a bronto so I'll just be right over there."

She nodded toward an alcove a few paces away. She didn't want to get too far just in case the wraith or the profane decided to rally for one last hurrah. She tucked herself away in the corner and cursed after several minutes of trying and failing to undo enough of her armor one-handed so she could take a piss. Not that she could afford to lose any more liquid, but their urine was far too concentrated to even consider consuming. She was nearly dehydrated enough to not give a damn, though. Still, her bladder was about to burst and as disgusting as she was without a proper bath in weeks - months? - the last thing she wanted was to piss herself, too.

"Fuck!" she yelled when the buckle of her leather waist cincher refused to give.

"Need a hand?" Varric asked, coming to check on her like the nosy bastard he was.

"Dammit.  _Yes_ ," Hawke hissed, too desperate to come up with something clever or scathing. She was already squirming in a close approximation of Snowflake's piddle dance. "I can't get this damn thing-oh thank Andraste."

Varric removed her empty potion belt and waist cincher with practiced ease and then stepped back to give her some privacy.

"Wait..." Hawke gasped, fumbling one-handed at the laces to her trousers as she braced her injured hand against her chest.

She was knotting the laces even worse in her urgency and was nearly tempted to slice through them with her dagger regardless that they were her only pair. She dropped her hand with a growl and gave Varric a pleading look, hoping he'd save the lecture for  _after_  she relieved herself.

Thankfully, he didn't say anything as he made quick work of her trousers and smallclothes, pushing them down to puddle at her feet without having to be asked. Hawke didn't even wait for him to leave. She squatted down and groaned in relief as she burst like a dam, pissing for what felt like  _hours_.

"When were you going to mention that broken wrist?" Varric said, far too calm despite the way his eyes went flinty and his jaw clenched. He crossed his arms and legs and leaned his shoulder against the rock, apparently not planning on going away anytime soon.

Hawke glared up at him incredulously from her squat. "We're really going to do this right now?"

"When you have your pants around your ankles and can't run away? You'd better believe it, Hawke."

"I think you're getting far too comfortable in this relationship," Hawke said.

She finished up and stood with a protesting creak in her knees. She stubbornly tugged her smallclothes and leathers back up without Varric's help but he seemed content to watch her struggle.

"Still didn't answer my question, Hawke."

"Maker's saggy testicles, Varric! I don't have to report to you every time I get a scratch. I'll have Anders take care of it when he's recovered some mana. People break shit all the time and don't make such a big fucking deal about it."

"That doesn't mean you just leave it without saying anything. Permanent nerve damage mean anything to you? Blood poisoning? Gangrene? As good as Blondie is, I doubt even he's capable of growing back a limb."

"Are you even listening to yourself?" Hawke said, holding up her trousers one-handed since she couldn't tie the laces herself. She tried to storm past him with all the dignity she could muster but he caught her arm and refused to let go even when she snarled at him. Pain, in addition to feeling helpless and embarrassed, did not put Hawke in the best mood.

"I don't need my hands to take you down, dwarf."

"You're so damned stubborn!" Varric snapped, snatching a vial from his own potion belt and yanking the cork out with his teeth. He spat it aside and shoved the vial in her good hand, forcing her to drop her pants. At least her smallclothes stayed in place. "I'm not going anywhere until you drink this.  _All_  of it, Hawke."

It was one of their last vials of elfroot potion, meant only for life-or-death situations. Not for a stupid fracture that Anders would be able to heal in a few hours anyway. Drinking it would only be a waste. She started to protest but he didn't even let her get a word out. He grabbed her hand and the vial, forcing them both up to her mouth so hard that he cut her bottom lip against her teeth.

"Ouch!" she hissed, glaring at him and twisting away from the rough handling. "Andraste's ass, you're a sonuvabitch when you're hangry. Go eat a sandwich or something."

"Drink it, Hawke," Varric said, refusing to be budged.

He dropped his hand away but glared at her until she lifted the rim of the vial to her lips and downed the entire contents like a shot. She closed her eyes and nearly moaned at the sensation of liquid running down her throat, trickling down into her empty belly and soothing the cut on her lip and the ache in her bones. She wished she would have savored the potion even if it was bitter and slightly acidic. Having anything in her stomach at that point was a Maker-send and she had to stop herself from getting her tongue stuck in the vial in an attempt to lick every last drop.

She had an inane recollection of someone - probably Isabela - mentioning semen being a good source of protein. True or not, Hawke was kicking herself for not offering a free round of blowjobs every time they made camp if only for a brief respite from gnawing hunger pangs. Orgasms might even do wonders for morale - if she wasn't too damned pissed off to even consider it. If she got Varric's dick in her mouth anytime soon there was a good chance that she might just bite it off.

She shoved the empty vial back at him and reached down to scoop up her trousers and belt. She shuffled toward Fenris and Anders with as much dignity as she could muster, hoping that one of them would at least take pity and help her get her pants back on while they made camp. Fenris, surprisingly enough, didn't seem to mind handling Hawke's pants situation while Anders made noises about healing Hawke's wrist right away even without Varric's incessant goading.

"My wrist will keep. But  _you_  won't if you keep pushing yourself," Hawke said.

She swiped under Anders' nose before he could protest and showed him the red smear of blood that had transferred onto the pad of her thumb. He ceded after that but promised to heal her as soon as he was able. Varric came over to sit on one of the boulders that used to be part of the wraith. He and Hawke pretended they didn't just have a yelling match in front of the children while Anders made a makeshift splint for Hawke's wrist, tearing strips from the hem of his robe to bind it.

"Careful or you'll end up naked at this rate," Hawke said, smirking at the flash of Anders' pale, skinny leg.

"I feel like I should at least lose a few rounds of Wicked Grace first. It wouldn't feel right otherwise."

"I've still got my deck," Varric offered, because of course he did.

If he ever went anywhere without Bianca and his Wicked Grace cards then Hawke would eat her boot. Her stomach rumbled pitifully at the thought. She might just eat her boot anyway. It was practically the same as jerky, right?

"Have we resorted to cannibalism yet?" Hawke whined. "Pretty soon none of us will be worth eating."

She considered sitting next to Fenris so she could stew in her anger at Varric for a while longer, but she was miserable and in pain and even when she was pissed at him she still loved the fuck out of that overprotective asshole. Her shoulder brushed against Varric's as she sat on the rock next to him, feeling something unclench in her chest when he automatically wrapped an arm around her waist and pulled her close. The elfroot had taken the edge off, but Hawke was struck with the ingenious idea of pressing the flat of her frosted blade against the splint. She nearly moaned as the cool metal numbed some of the pain and eased the insistent throbbing. She was going to  _kiss_  Sandal if she ever saw him again.

"Instead of clothes, whoever has the worst hand in each round donates a non-essential body part to the dinner pot?" Varric reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a familiar, if not blood-splattered, deck of cards.

Hawke laughed. "If the three of you want to take turns strapping me to your back to haul around when I have no arms or legs left, by all means."

"Don't worry, Hawke. I'd still love you even if you were just a talking stump," Varric said and gave her waist a squeeze before releasing her to shuffle the deck. No one seemed particularly bothered by the macabre conversation topic. Each of them had seen death up close and personal far too many times to pretend to be squeamish any longer.

"Aw. That's sweet," she said, leaning down to kiss the top of his head. "I still do even though you  _are_  pretty much a talking stump."

"As far as dwarf jokes go, I've heard better," he said, but he still cracked a grin which counted as a win in Hawke's book.

They took paltry sips from the remaining wineskin, but Hawke passed on her turn since she'd drunk the entire vial of elfroot. They split a piece of jerky between the four of them which was probably as close as any of them were getting to actually eating a person. None of them were really paying attention to the game, which only reminded Hawke of the people and places they were missing back home.

Fenris took first watch while Hawke squeezed onto a single pallet with Varric tucked against her back and Anders graciously accepting his role as her little spoon. She buried her face in the musty feathers of his pauldron and rested an arm around his scarily thin waist. The shooting pain in her wrist returned, making it impossible for her to sleep. She was pinned in too tightly to fidget so instead she teased the bare skin over Anders' ankle with her socked toe over and over again until he let out an aggrieved sigh and grabbed her wrist. He released a pulse of healing energy before she could hiss and pull away. Hawke didn't know if mages could die of severe mana depletion but Anders seemed determined to find out.

Varric snorted against the back of her neck and squeezed her waist in warning. "Go to sleep, Hawke."

"You're not the boss of me," she grumbled, wishing she had better access to Anders' neck to bite him for his obstinacy, but she'd only get a mouthful of filthy hair and feathers if she tried.

Varric's hand shifted between them and curled lightly around Hawke's throat. Not choking her or anything, but he applied just enough pressure to take the wind out of her sails. When she fell silent and swallowed against his palm with a faint whine, he gave her one more gentle squeeze before gliding his palm down the front of her throat, her chest, her belly, to curl around her hip. His knuckles grazed down the line of Anders' back at the same time, so tightly were they snuggled together. Anders arched his back like a cat and gave a faint sigh before he settled against Hawke's chest where warmth bloomed, lulling her impossibly to sleep.

After they'd each rotated through their turn on watch, they packed and dressed without breaking their fast. They sacrificed one "meal" a day with the hopes of making their rations last longer and they'd all had to tighten their belts several notches.

Hawke was hit with a wave of dizziness when she stood from picking up her pack and felt the faint prickle of Fenris' gauntlets digging into her shoulder when he reached out to steady her. She shook her head and gave him a faintly reassuring smile before shouldering her pack and joining the others as they explored the chamber.

"Look at what the wraith was guarding!" Varric called out from a deep recess in the stone, not even twenty paces from where they'd been sleeping.

Chests upon chests filled an alcove bigger than Gamlen's house, overfilling with more gold and jewels than Hawke suspected most nobility - if not royalty - saw in their lifetimes. Hawke was tempted to run and dive headfirst into the nearest pile, but she had enough sense to let Varric go first and check for any traps in case there was more than a wraith guarding the treasure.

"Let's see if there's something that can help get us out of here," Hawke suggested reasonably before she let greed get away with her. She would trade it all in an instant for a warm bath, a decent ale, and a soft bed.

They stuffed their nearly empty packs with as much treasure as they could manage to carry, which wasn't nearly as much as Hawke would have liked. Gold was  _heavy_  so she stuck to bigger, hollower pieces like bracelets, goblets, and even a vase or two rather than solid gold bars or coins that added up in weight quickly. In the biggest, oldest chest Hawke found a staff made out of red steel that she passed over to Anders, yet more treasure, and an old, old key.

"What did you find there?" Varric called over.

His head popped up over a pile of coins like a gilded gopher. He was wearing a large, bulky crown gaudily encrusted with gems of every shape and size and he had on more rings than he had fingers. His chest was also completely covered with strand after strand of gold and silver chains, hiding his prized chest hair. Hawke lifted her find and a broad grin spread over his face.

"A key? The kind that opens doors, I hope. Let's collect the best pieces we can carry out of here and then go."

The Maker must have finally deigned to shed His blessings upon them because the key actually worked on a door they found near the treasure hoard. They spilled out into a more modern - if a million years old as opposed to a billion could be considered modern - area of the thaig. There was familiar stonework and dwarven construction rather than cave walls and rock monsters, which was definitely an improvement in any case.

"Hmm. I'd say this is our way back," Varric said as he peered down the long corridor.

"How long to get back?" Hawke asked.

"If we're unlucky, maybe a week."

Hawke's shoulders sagged, feeling the weight of their finds already threatening to bring her to her knees. They were running on fumes as it was. Hawke really, really didn't think any of them would make it a week.

"And if we're lucky?"

"We stumble over Bartrand's corpse on the way."

* * *

 

"This part of the Deep Roads looks familiar," Hawke observed.

She prayed that hope and desperation weren't conspiring to make her see only what she wanted. Her shoulders had deep gouges and bruises upon bruises from the weight of her pack, but she refused to let Varric take any of the burden from her or let Anders use up any more of his precious mana to soothe sore muscles. They weren't out of the Deep Roads yet and Hawke would sooner drop her pack than inconvenience anyone else.

"We're back where we started," Varric confirmed, "and in only five days. Not bad, eh?"

"Mm," Hawke answered non-committally.

She didn't dare set down her pack or stop moving because if she did there was a good chance that she wouldn't have the strength to get back up again. They'd eaten the very last of their food the previous day. Hawke would have wept if she'd had any tears left. The four of them had huddled close, foreheads pressed together as they gripped each other's fingers tightly.

"We  _will_  get through this," Varric had said roughly. "Even if I have to drag every last one of you out of here myself."

"Okay, Hero," Hawke had whispered, glad that he hadn't lost hope because her own was severely faltering.

Hawke forced herself to place one foot in front of the other and ignored the spasming muscles of her neck, her back, her calves as the weight of her pack made her feel as if she was wading through molasses. She didn't register Anders' shout until a hand hooked into the strap of her pack and nearly ripped it off her.

"What?"

"Darkspawn!" Anders said again.

His voice was frantic as he pointed toward a group of more hurlocks and genlocks than Hawke could count at a glance. The darkspawn were blocking the pass like a large, living wall. They were each armed with swords or axes or maces or bows and there was at least one hurlock emissary with a staff already raised in their direction, which meant they had already been spotted. The hoard raised a shattering battle cry that stopped Hawke's heart cold.

Death.

They had come so far, found their blighted treasure, and were  _so close_  to finding a way out only to be met with a solid wall of death. The darkspawn were already running toward them with their weapons raised to fight.

Hawke's pack slid off her shoulders and hit the ground with a solid  _thunk_. Her hands moved automatically to the hilt of her daggers strapped to her hips but she couldn't make herself pull them out of their sheaths. The roars sounded like they were underwater and she couldn't shake the fog in her head, gaping stupidly at the oncoming rush of darkspawn until Fenris knocked her hard in the shoulder as he ran past, his sword already drawn as he tossed a concerned glance back at her.

Hawke wished she could say the impact knocked the sense back into her, but her body moved on its own with sluggish, blocky motions while in her mind all she could hear was one endless scream of denial. They couldn't win. Varric was down to a handful of bolts, Anders hadn't recovered nearly as much as he claimed after he'd wasted his mana healing her, and she and Fenris were equally exhausted though he had somehow managed to find another wind.

The first strike of a genlock's mace rattled her down to the soles of her boots as she lifted her daggers to block at the very last second. She shoved the mace upward and kicked the genlock in the chest, but the blow barely had enough force behind it to stagger her opponent back more than a step. The whistle of an arrow cut close to her ear and when she ducked the sweep of a hurlock's sword she came up in the middle of a knot of four or five darkspawn surrounding and separating her from the others.

Panic was slowly seeping into her veins, but she couldn't make herself  _react_ , couldn't use that fear and adrenaline she'd come to depend upon to fight. A hurlock's fist caught her in the jaw and she cried out as a blast of ice from the emissary caught her in the shoulder, freezing her arm to her side.

She took a hit to the stomach and doubled over. The blows came in such quick succession that her brain hadn't yet caught up to the pain. She was on the ground and didn't have her daggers. All she could see were metal boots, stomping her and kicking at her. She covered her head with her arms and curled up as tight as she was able, barely registering the toe of one metal boot colliding with her kidney as another boot broke the ring and middle fingers of her right hand.

She was caught in a loop of shock, denial, and resignation that sapped whatever strength, whatever desire to  _live_  she might have had left. A quick death by darkspawn was a mercy compared to the slow agony of starving to death. Of watching the people she loved slowly wasting away. She didn't have time to spare a final thought for her loved ones. She did get a flash of Snowflake's sad, puppydog face - of all things - right before her awareness started tunneling into black around the edges.

Hawke went limp all over, waiting for the final blow and hoping it was quick. She was caught entirely off guard when she felt a hard jerk on her ankle that pulled her several yards and startled her heart into jumpstarting. She yanked her hands away from her face, but all she could see were leg guards and boots as she was dragged past them with a strength and swiftness that finally lit the first sparks of fire in her breast.

Hawke didn't fight the pull, figuring whoever had rescued her would release her once they were clear of the darkspawn. Her rescuer had a firm grip on her ankle around her boot. She wouldn't be in danger of slipping free of his grasp and being pulled back in by the darkspawn when they realized they'd lost their victim. Hawke didn't consider it strange that the darkspawn didn't simply run after them or hurl their attacks from afar. In fact, she didn't even think to identify her savior until he dragged her more roughly than what seemed necessary over cracked and broken tiles.

"Easy with the merchandi—" Hawke snapped and then felt her throat tighten in horror as her savior twisted its gruesome, raw-meat face over its shoulder and growled a warning at her before continuing to drag her away from the other darkspawn.

Hawke was too stunned to react, caught utterly helpless in the grip of a large hurlock intent on taking her alive. She could see Anders' staff flashing and spinning over the heads of the darkspawn in the distance while Fenris darted here and there like a ghost made out of pure lyrium, forgoing his sword in favor of ripping out the vital organs from each darkspawn within his reach.

And Varric…

Their eyes locked across the battlefield.

He shouted something that was lost in the clash of metal and impassioned roars. Hawke saw him fumble for his quiver, hands grasping around the only bolt he had left. It was like every bad dream, every bad joke rushed up to bite her in the ass. Her desperate plea in the courtyard for Varric not to let the darkspawn take her alive if they somehow, impossibly, found themselves in this exact scenario replayed with crystalline clarity in her head.

Anders, Fenris, and Varric were all too far away to reach her but Varric had  _seen_  her. Varric had the means to grant Hawke her one last request right there in his hands.

 _Please_ , Hawke mouthed, twisting around so she didn't lose eye contact with him.  _Varric,_ _ **please**_.

He looked exactly how she felt; pale and broken and on the verge of having his soul crushed out of him. After a silent, gut-wrenching exchange, he finally jerked his head, mouth set with his refusal to end her life quickly and mercifully.

Hawke turned back and realized the hurlock was dragging her toward a cave-like crevice in the wall, a gap big enough for only one person to squeeze through at a time. Once she was through that gap, there was absolutely no chance of Varric or his bolt reaching her in time. Fear and fury rushed through Hawke severe enough to choke her.

She finally screamed, clawing at the ground. She didn't feel when her fingernails broke or when she ripped one off entirely, leaving bloody furrows in the hard-packed dirt and stone. She lost sight of Varric when the crush of darkspawn moved between them. She yelled and cursed and fought with everything in her even though she knew her struggle was in vain. The hurlock's grip only became tighter and she was losing energy fast.

She had no help, no poisons, no weapons save for the knife in her boot that she carried by habit after the army. After Millie.

Hawke lunged toward her knee. The hurlock dragged her over uneven ground, toppling her over onto her side and nearly breaking her ankle with its iron grip. She could see the hilt sticking out of the top of her boot and curled in as tight as she could, ignoring the sensation of her armor and exposed skin being scraped away in layers. She could reach the knife if she just...stretched...

"Got it!" she gasped and then nearly dropped the blade when the hurlock jerked her hard to the right.

She couldn't reach her ankle otherwise she'd have cut the damn thing's fingers off. She'd only have one chance. Hawke hands shook, tears blurring her vision as she set the tip of her knife directly over her heart through her leather chestplate. She let out a soft, terrified whine, hesitating over whether she had the strength to drive the blade through leather, cloth, and bone. She moved the knife against the side of her neck instead. The hurlock jostled her again and the knife bit into her throat.

"Hawke!" Varric called desperately, sounding closer than he had been but still much, much too far away.

His voice was edged in a frantic plea for her to wait, but time was slipping through her fingers faster than tiny grains of sand. Hawke didn't want to die, but if anything the sound of his voice only made her that more determined to do what she knew she must in order to prevent hundreds of more darkspawn from ever being born. She realized now that she'd been selfish to ask her own lover to live with the horror of having killed her himself. The hurlock was nearly at the crevice and her window of opportunity was drawing to a close. She didn't know what lurked down below, but she knew for certain what fate awaited her in the dark.

 _I love you_ , she thought as desperately as she could in Varric's direction, feeling the chill of the blade mingle with the heat of her blood.  _I'm so sorry..._

Hawke grit her teeth and drew on the very last of her willpower, fingers white-knuckled around the hilt of her blade. The sound of a bolt whistled through the air and Hawke had a split second of mind-numbing relief until Varric's very last bolt exploded against the wall inches from the hurlock's head.

Missed. He'd  _missed_.

The hurlock paused just long enough that Hawke renewed her grip on her knife. She didn't let herself hesitate or wait for one last miracle to come through. She raised her hand, the tip of the dagger pointed directed over her jugular and plunged the blade downward as hard as she could.

A hand snapped out and grabbed her wrist just as the blade nicked her throat, jerking her away from the hurlock at the same time its head toppled off its shoulders.

"Varric!" she sobbed, but the face she saw was not that of a dwarf, darkspawn, or any man she'd ever seen before. He had eyes like ice chips and the thickest, blackest mustache she had ever seen. "Who-?"

"No time," the man said in a heavy Orlesian accent. "We must move you away from here. Quickly."

The knife tumbled from Hawke's nerveless fingers and she clapped a hand over the bleeding gash in her neck, shaking her head numbly. The man sheathed his longsword - or was it a greatsword? Hawke never bothered to learn the difference especially when her ignorance used to send Carver into a tizzy complete with the pulling of hair and gnashing of teeth. Either way, the man put his weapon away and hooked his hands under her arms to haul her up to her feet.

Hawke knew she was in shock but she was still able to note that he was wearing chainmail armor in silver and blue. He tucked her against his side, all but carrying her away from the hurlock and toward another soldier with a staff slung across their back. As she exchanged hands, Hawke caught the emblem of a griffin on their breastplates.

 _Grey Wardens_ , her mind supplied helpfully as her knees buckled.  _Oh, thank the Maker. People who actually know what the fuck they're doing._


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for the delay, darlings! Can you believe I actually cut this chapter in half to make it shorter? Editing was a BITCH so please excuse or feel free to point out any glaring errors.
> 
> Thank you, always, for reading!

Hawke was a mess.

She was a mangled, beaten, and broken mess, but the Wardens were careful in their handling of her.

"Take her from here and see that she is healed," the Orlesian Warden with the mustache said to the Warden with the staff. A mage, no doubt. "I will join the others and eradicate the remaining darkspawn."

The mage nodded and started to lead Hawke gently away by the arm.

"W-Wait!" Hawke gasped through a broken mouth, twisting back toward the retreating Warden as she implored, "My friends..."

The Warden exchanged a glance with the mage that felt heavily weighted, but he inclined his head toward her before he spoke. "See that her injuries are tended, Grayson. I will return with any survivors."

"Aye, Ser Stroud," the mage, Grayson, said with a crisp salute.

_Survivors._

The word resonated in Hawke's head over and over again. Grayson's secure grip prevented her from running off after Stroud and finding those survivors for herself, even though she was nothing more than a liability at that point. All she could do was pray and hope that her friends, her  _family,_  came back to her. She was worried that Varric might do something heroically stupid as penance for not having saved her but she had to trust that her being alive and not a broodmother was reason enough for him to fight to stay alive as well.

Grayson guided her away from the bulk of the fighting and summoned a barrier that was nearly so opaque as to be solid. She hadn't realized how thin Anders' barriers had gotten until she was under one that was fully powered. Grayson set her down on a stone block and set - his? her? - hands on Hawke's face after pausing for permission, which Hawke distractedly gave. Grayson murmured a brief warning before giving her lower jaw a quick, firm jerk that snapped it back into place.

Reflexive tears sprang to her eyes but Hawke prided herself in not crying out. Her detachment to pain was more than likely due to shock. She spat out a tooth and a mouthful of blood that she almost considered swallowing just so she would have something to throw up later when reality came slamming down on her. Unfortunately, vampirism was frowned upon just as much as cannibalism. She was so beyond the point of mere hunger that even the thought of food wasn't appealing any longer.

Grayson's magic immediately eased the pain in her jaw to a tolerable throb before moving on and resetting the rest of Hawke's broken bones, one by one. Hawke didn't keep track of all her injuries as Grayson worked extensively to put all the pieces of her back together again like a shattered doll. She stared out at the barrier and strained to see anything, but all she could make out were vague forms like those seen through smoked glass.

A concussion was notoriously difficult for most healers to treat, but Grayson did their best even if Hawke would suffer headaches and seeing in double vision for a while. At least Grayson's magic on her lower back meant she wouldn't be pissing blood. She wished she could see the Warden's face, but it was hidden behind a full, winged helm with tiny slashes for eye slits. Hawke didn't know how anyone could stand wearing anything that limited their line of sight so severely but to each their own, she supposed.

"So..." Hawke said, desperate for something to distract her from what was going on behind them. "Grayson the Grey Warden, huh? Did you always know you were going to be a Warden?"

"Actually, I wanted to be a templar up until I was around six or seven. Then my magic manifested and put a damper on those plans."

Grayson's soft laugh sounded tinny from inside the helmet, but not unkind. Grayson's accent was also Orlesian, but much fainter than Stroud's had been. Hawke couldn't place Grayson's gender, though, and the formless armor was of no help. The name was fairly masculine, but she'd lost count of how many people heard the name Hawke and automatically assumed she was a man. The mage was currently kneeling at her feet and prodding tenderly at Hawke's ankle which had swollen too badly for her boot to be removed without cutting it off.

"I had a brother named Carver," Hawke said inanely. "He wasn't a carver. Which is a shame because I have a table back home that could really use some work."

Grayson only hummed and Hawke had to contain her frustration at not being able to read their expressions. Grayson would make a killing off Wicked Grace…if any of them lived long enough to play again. That thought spawned a wave of panic and fear that nearly made her leap to her feet except that Grayson still had her ankle in their hands.

"The ankle is swollen but not broken. I recommend leaving your boot on since it is acting as a compression, but you will not aggravate the injury further if you walk on it. Regrettably, I will not be able to restore your fingernails. Most of the time they will grow back on their own, however. Your injuries were extensive, my lady, but you will survive."

"Hawke," Hawke corrected. "My name's Hawke. Er. Marian. But only my mother and sister call me that."

"I suppose you do not fly either, Lady Hawke?" Grayson said. The smile was evident despite the helm as the mage stood.

"I fall pretty spectacularly," Hawke shrugged, accepting the hand Grayson held out for her.

She tested her foot gingerly and was relieved when she could apply her full weight without her leg buckling. Grayson had healed the most severe of her injuries - of which there had been many - but Hawke was still bruised and mildly concussed. Unfortunately, magic couldn't make up for months of neglect. She swayed where she stood until she found her balance again and blinked away dark spots.

"It appears we are victorious upon this day," Grayson said softly, nodding somewhere behind Hawke's shoulder.

The barrier shimmered out of existence and Stroud, along with five other Wardens, came into view. All of the darkspawn were either gone or dead. Hawke craned her head to look past them and cried out when she spotted Anders being helped along by Fenris. Both of them were decidedly worse for wear but blessedly  _alive_.

Hawke stumbled away from Grayson, half-limping, half-running toward the pair while searching frantically for a hint of tawny hair and a familiar crossbow. She reached Anders and Fenris without having spotted Varric but they immediately folded her into a three-way embrace before she could attain a full-blown panic attack.

"Thank the Maker you're alive," Anders said, lips dry and hot against her forehead. "I am so, so sorry, Hawke. We got separated and I had no idea-"

"It doesn't matter," Hawke interrupted quickly, not wanting to relive that particular memory any time soon. "We're all alive, which is the only thing that matters."

Anders and Fenris exchanged wordless glances and Hawke felt the bottom suddenly drop out of her stomach.

"We… _are_  all alive...right?" she said. Her hands tightened on them, becoming less supportive and more demanding.

_Please. Maker, Andraste, Flemeth, please-_

"I'm sorry, Hawke..." Anders started to say, expression heavy with regret and sorrow.

Hawke stumbled back and clapped a hand over her ears, shaking her head in denial. A keen was working its way up to her throat and nearly broke through when a solid weight crashed into her back. She stumbled into a wide-eyed Anders and Fenris, but they weren't looking at her.

"Hawke! Thank fuck," Varric exclaimed from behind her. His arms latched on around her waist as tight as a vice.

The rest of what he said was lost as Hawke ripped herself away from the other two and grabbed onto Varric. She buried her hands in the torn, bloodied fabric of his coat and nearly dragged it off him when her knees buckled. He followed her down and they lost themselves in a surge of crying, swearing, and desperately painful kisses. His hands were all over her, rough but reverential in their urgency. He was weeping angry and grief-stricken apologies that sounded mostly like accusations mixed in with self-condemnation.

"It's okay," Hawke soothed between kisses that tasted like metal and bruises. They were so far from being okay and would probably be traumatized for life after this.

" _Hawke_ ," Varric croaked when he finally managed to stop swearing at her, at himself, at the blighted Deep Roads and everything in it.

They didn't have any other words for a long while after that.

Hawke and Varric broke apart reluctantly and helped each other to their feet when Fenris cleared his throat as the Wardens approached. They stood together with Anders and Fenris as a united front but in reality they were all that was keeping each other upright. Hawke hadn't noticed Varric's torn and bloodied pant leg earlier but she thought she saw a flash of white that could have been bone. He favored the leg heavily but didn't say anything, the giant hypocrite. It was a wonder he'd managed to walk on it at all.

And he called  _her_  stubborn.

"Are these all of your companions then?" Stroud asked Hawke.

She nodded, throat tight with gratitude as Grayson moved forward to take care of Varric's leg. Hawke hugged both her arms around him as Grayson worked. She had to look away when Grayson reset the break and swallowed thickly when the wet snap of bone was a little too close for comfort. Varric stifled a grunt of pain against her chest but he didn't cry out either. Grayson's healing light engulfed his leg and the tension in Varric's body eased a little as his skin knit back together.

"Blasted genlock caught me in the leg with a maul," Varric said in explanation. "I'm lucky it didn't break the damn thing off, but it was close."

"That's when we saw you go down," Anders said. "I didn't think any of us were going to make it out of there."

"Anders," Stroud said when he laid eyes upon Hawke's resident apostate.

Stroud's familiarity gave Hawke a start. Somehow she kept forgetting that Anders had been a Warden despite his stories and the fact he could sense darkspawn. He just didn't seem very…Warden-y…to her but it wasn't like she'd ever met a Grey Warden before aside from a couple recruits in Ostagar.

"Stroud," Anders greeted with a wary expression. "Fancy meeting you here." He leaned heavily on his staff without showing any inclination to attack which Hawke took as a good sign.

"I could say the same. Aren't you supposed to be dead?"

"That's the rumor. I don't suppose you could just...pretend we were never here?"

"Anders, is there something you're not telling me? About being dead?" Hawke said.

She'd meant the question to be in jest but it came out accusatory when she remembered what Anders had told her about Justice previously inhabiting a deceased Warden's body. The thought alone made her shutter. She'd  _spooned_  with that.

"When Vigil's Keep fell to the darkspawn, I left. Unheroic, I know," Anders sighed theatrically before he turned serious again, voice edged with warning. "And I don't plan on going back."

"Despite what you may believe we did not come here for you, Anders. I'm afraid we have more important matters at hand and must return to our duties at once," Stroud said in a manner that suggested Anders had shirked his own.

Hawke was grateful to the Wardens and all, but seriously.  _Fuck_  those guys if they couldn't appreciate how selfless Anders was and how far he would go to help a friend. Taking away his cat was no way to earn anyone's loyalty.

"I don't suppose you have a camp nearby?" Varric asked, his forced levity frayed around the edges. "Or supplies you don't mind parting with? I'd even settle for the quickest route to the surface at this point."

Stroud glanced over his shoulder at two other Wardens - one an archer and the other carrying a sword and shield. They seemed able to communicate telepathically, which may or may not be a Warden thing. Hawke reached out and wrapped one arm around Anders' waist protectively, refusing to let him be taken if Stroud decided to change his mind and detain him after all. Rather than going for their weapons, both Wardens clapped their fists over their hearts and bowed in acknowledgment of some unspoken order before they left.

"I can offer all three," Stroud said, clearly noting the protective way they huddled around Anders but saying nothing. "However, I will be unable to provide you an escort to the surface. I assume you still have the maps you stole, Anders?"

"You mean these?" Anders said, refusing to be cowed as he reached into his inner coat pocket and handed over the tattered and bloodstained maps that were nearly impossible to read at this point. "Goodness. They must have somehow slipped and fallen into my pocket. How clumsy of me."

"You are here," Stroud said, ignoring Anders' sarcasm and pointing to a spot at least three fingers away from where they thought they'd been heading on the map. It probably would have meant at least a half day of backtracking. An hours' delay, even without darkspawn, could have meant the difference between life or death so it was fortunate they'd run across the Wardens when they did.

"This path will take you directly to the surface in approximately two days' time. We have caches located here and here, so feel free to take what you need. The exit will lead you to a cave on the northwest side of the Wounded Coast, all but invisible to those who do not know it is there. I apologize that I am unable to do more."

"This is more than generous," Hawke said as Anders took the maps back. " _Thank you_. Seriously. I don't even want to think about what would have happened if you weren't here."

She couldn't remember the last time she'd felt remotely safe, but Stroud's militant yet kind demeanor put her at ease. It was too bad he and his Wardens couldn't stay as extra protection, but at least they didn't plan on dragging Anders away with them in chains. Stroud showed them to the Warden's camp nearby. It was little more than a cave nook but there were bedrolls, a crate of supplies, and even a nug roasting on a spit over a campfire.

If she didn't think she'd end up with teeth full of hair, Hawke could have kissed him.

They barely waited for Stroud and the other Wardens to depart before they fell upon the nug like ravenous wolves, burning their fingers and tongues on the crackling fat and seared meat. They chased their meal with waterskins enough for all of them, though they paid for their gluttony soon after.

The nug did not sit well in their starved bellies, now bloated comically as if they'd swallowed a pumpkin whole. Hawke thanked the Maker Stroud had left after all because the sounds and smells coming from their camp that night were probably enough to scare off any remaining darkspawn. None of them needed to be convinced to employ a little more restraint going forth. After they split a healing potion four ways between them, they limited themselves to nibbling cautiously on hardtack and sipping on water at a more reasonable pace.

Hawke made no illusion about stripping down to her skin after they cleaned up and prepared for bed. She scoured her teeth until her gums bled and used an entire waterskin to scrub off as many layers of grime as she could - a decadence that seemed unforgivably wasteful. She was literally itching for a razor to shave off all her hair but it was long enough now that she could pull the greasy mess into a short tail.

Hawke piled bedrolls and blankets next to the campfire and waited for Varric to join her. Anders was sitting on a boulder with his back angled toward the fire, flicking through a leather-bound journal with rapt attention like nothing else existed. Hawke hoped it was at least a collection of dirty limericks that held him so enthralled, but the journal probably contained boring logs of Warden reports or recounted the ninety-nine uses of deep mushrooms, except as something actually edible. She'd gotten to experience hallucinations, projectile vomiting, severe sweating and cramping when desperation drove her to sticking strange fungi in her mouth.

She was never eating nug or mushrooms again for as long as she lived.

Varric cleaned up as best he could but none of them would be winning beauty contests anytime soon. He'd left his trousers on but after a hard, uncompromising look from Hawke, he stripped out of those as well. Their stomachs were still tender so anal sex was definitely off the table. Hawke knew the timing could have been better, but if ever she needed a "holy shit we didn't die" fuck to reaffirm their continued existence it was now.

Varric pulled a blanket over them and Hawke wriggled upward until their lower bodies were level. She slung a leg over his hip, impatient to get a head start drowning out the terrified clamor that was threatening to wipe out all other thoughts. Varric's hand gripped her thigh gently as she pressed herself against him, willing him to get hard already and fuck her before she broke down. She needed to feel him, needed to know they were both real and alive and still had each other despite everything they had nearly lost.

He was still soft but he didn't push her away when she reached down to take him in hand. She stroked him hard and rough and dry but oddly enough the pain seemed to do it for him. His touch suddenly became like iron and he held onto her like he couldn't bring himself to let go. He kissed her chest and her throat, leaving fingerprint bruises all over her body like he was trying to mold her back into a whole person instead of the damaged ruin she was.

The sex was perfunctory and just a little bit terrible. Hawke didn't bother to get herself ready before taking Varric within herself. The friction was so abrasive that she had to grit her teeth before a sound of discomfort escaped. Each thrust chafed her insides and his ragged nails bit into her skin.

She wouldn't have wanted it any other way.

Hawke couldn't look away from him the entire time they were fucking. She was irrationally afraid that if she blinked Varric might disappear. He was watching her in much the same way. She finally had to close her eyes when the wet sheen of Varric's bloodshot eyes threatened her own into watering. She buried her face against the top of his head and held on tight as they writhed against each other like a nest of snakes in a pit. She wasn't expecting it but her eyes flew open as she came with a soft, surprised "oh!" She clenched and fluttered around him as he hissed and trembled against her, fighting not to release inside her.

"Hawke..." Varric rasped out a half-hearted warning laced with exhaustion and hurt and desperate longing. Hawke squeezed her eyes shut and leaned her forehead against his when he tilted his head back to look at her.

"I haven't had my cycle since we came down here," she admitted quietly.

Though unintended, the words were blunter than any instrument and more cutting than a knife. Varric made a deep, guttural sound like someone had punched a hole in his chest and came. His hips jerked against hers but he didn't withdraw more than a hair's breadth like he couldn't bear to have a single drop escape her. If Varric was dismayed at the idea of her possibly carrying his child then Hawke couldn't tell. His actions could even be interpreted as the complete opposite, like he was doing everything possible to make certain she did take.

Neither of them was in a sound state of mind and Hawke knew she would possibly come to regret such hasty, reckless behavior. But right then she couldn't bear the thought of losing this connection for a single second regardless of consequences. She would die before being turned into a broodmother but the idea of being pregnant with a normal baby wasn't nearly as terrifying even if the thought of it rattled her down to her core. She tightened her leg around him and dug her heel in before he could start to withdraw, keeping him buried inside her when she felt him twitch and soften.

The rustle of Anders flipping through the journal paused just long enough that Hawke heard the sharp intake of Varric's breath against her chest before the sounds of pages turning slowly and deliberately resumed. Hawke could feel Varric start to tremble and his chest hitched against her stomach like he was struggling for air.

Hawke turned her head and looked over her shoulder for help, catching Anders' eye. Their boundaries had long since crumbled, burned, and been destroyed by prolonged proximity and extreme circumstances. Fucking Varric with Anders within arm's reach didn't even cross her mind as possibly crossing the line. Anders cleared his throat softly and directed his words at them both.

"I won't know without examining you first, but it's not unlikely that starvation, dehydration, and stress have a lot to do with why you're late. It's my understanding that dwarves have notoriously low birthrates - even less so with other races," Anders said in a professionally detached manner that would have been insulting if it hadn't been exactly what she needed to hear.

"Sol said the birthbane could fuck things up a bit," Hawke said a little helplessly. She didn't know what to say or do with Varric shuddering in her arms, making these choked off little sounds that were tearing her heart into pieces. She tried to match Anders' careful detachment but she stumbled, tripping over her thoughts and words.

"But if I am...then it doesn't matter that we..."

She couldn't finish. Varric didn't let her finish.

He crushed his face against her chest, making it impossible for Hawke to gauge his expression. His breath came in aborted, whuffling noises and he shook so hard that Hawke had to practically pin him to the ground lest the tremors carry him away. She could do nothing except hold him closer and stroke her fingers through his tangled, natty hair while whispering nonsensical platitudes.

Hawke wondered if he was struggling more with the idea that she might be pregnant or that she  _might_  have been during the entire expedition - past tense heavily implied. All she could think about was the ogre shattering her torso with its fist, being electrocuted, punched in the stomach, and all those darkspawn kicking and hitting her in tender places…

Hawke didn't hear the distressed noise she'd started to make until she felt a hand on her shoulder. Anders knelt with a whisper of cloth from his robes and his upside-down face gazed at her sadly. Varric hadn't let go, holding her as if he could shield her within the bones of his ribcage and protect her from the echoes of waking nightmares already burrowing into her skin.

Fenris appeared from wherever he had gone, pale and gaunt, but his sharp eyes softened ever so slightly when he saw Anders comforting Hawke, who was comforting Varric…or at least trying to. They were all exhausted and even Fenris was swaying on his feet. He didn't wait to be asked and did his best to set the handful of traps the Wardens had left at the mouth of the cave. Anders cast a barrier he claimed that he'd be able to sustain in his sleep even though he'd never been able to before. Food and water and the healing potion had made a difference, though not so great a one that any of them were even close to being recovered.

All four of them piled together on the nest of bedding and blankets, touching whatever body part happened to be closest just to affirm everyone was there and safe. There was nothing sexual about it; they had an unspoken agreement not to draw attention to anything as inconsequential as boners or even tears. Anders curled up behind Hawke and tucked his bony knees behind hers. He didn't even seem to care that she and Varric were essentially fused into one being and settled his warm, large hand against her sternum, drawing her snugly against him.

Hawke felt a wild, almost queasy thrill go through her like a snake wriggling around in her belly when his thumb grazed the underside of her breast. He was probably touching Varric's chin or throat as well considering how close they were. None of them struggled with anything as pesky as shame or boundaries any longer but Anders went a step further from their usual cuddling and rested his lips against the bare curve of her neck and shoulder.

Hawke tipped her head back with a soft, wordless gasp. She felt gooseflesh break out all over her skin and her nipples tightened. Then she realized his lips were covering the small, thin line that was the only evidence that Hawke had nearly succeeded in killing herself. Her breath caught and fire burned in her throat and eyes. She reached out blindly to touch Anders' face, Varric's hip, and Fenris' upper arm in turn as she tried to tether herself to their living, breathing bodies.

It was starting to sink in just how close she'd come to dying. The knowledge was easier to bear when she was safe and warm and literally surrounded by her loved ones. Anders and Fenris had unquestionably slotted themselves into the position of loved ones these long, endless weeks. If Stroud's estimated date was correct then they'd been down in the Deep Roads for nearly two solid months. They had all risked life and limb for each other again and again and Hawke didn't doubt they'd continue to do so even after returning to Kirkwall.

She tortured herself by wondering if they would have survived if she'd brought any other combination of people along with her. Swords and daggers and regular arrows had been next to useless against half of what they'd gone up against, but at least Varric had Bianca enchanted and Fenris' sword was supplemented by the abilities his lyrium brands afforded him. Aveline and Isabela would have lost their advantage down here and Merrill, though a strong mage in her own right, was no healer. Anders had been in the Deep Roads before and was able to sense darkspawn. Not to mention his magic was made even stronger by Justice.

Hawke thanked the Maker again and again that she hadn't given in and brought Bethany to this blighted place. Her sister was unquestionably talented but also not a spirit healer. Hawke would have been distracted keeping an eye on her during each fight, fretting and worrying over Bethany like Varric did her. She trusted Varric, Fenris, and Anders to take care of themselves and to have her back like she had theirs. No matter what happened from this point on a permanent bond had been forged.

Hawke met Fenris' eyes over the top of Varric's head and saw a rawness there that he usually kept hidden. Hawke had often wondered whether being trapped in the Deep Roads had any effect on him - aside from making him crankier - but the Fenris of two months ago would have never let his guard down or willingly submitted himself to cuddling a dwarf. Varric was crushed between them but he didn't seem to mind or apparently have any need for air.

Fenris reached out and grabbed a handful of Hawke's hair that had come loose from her tie and gave her head a gentle shake. He even managed a hint of a smile as he brought their faces close enough to bump noses, exhaling softly against her lips. He had taken off his gauntlets and spiky shoulder spaulders, presumably so he didn't stab anyone with them. The consideration for his bed partners was unusually thoughtful since she had more than a few marks from his armor digging into her from the last time they'd slept together. Hawke leaned into the contact gratefully and closed her eyes. She was swamped with so much emotion that the rush would have brought her to her knees if she hadn't already been lying down.

Fenris must have caught a glimpse of Anders over her shoulder because he pulled away with a faint snarl and his face reverted back to its usual broody expression. He rolled over so he was back to back with Varric but Hawke stretched out her arm so her hand rested on his hip, pulling them in as close as possible.

Varric hadn't moved or picked up his head, but he shifted ever so slightly. They both sighed at the loss as he finally slipped out of her. Hawke squeezed her thighs together and tried to keep as much of Varric's spend from leaking out just in case her body was able to absorb the much-needed protein. She never did get around to offering group blowjobs. Maybe once they were actually topside again they'd have one giant "holy shit we didn't die" orgy instead.

She had to remember to remind Varric to check if she could patent that.

Hawke didn't know how long they'd stayed intertwined like this, dozing off and on. Occasionally, one of them would shift before resettling but they were all too wary to fall into a deep sleep. Eventually, their stomachs reminded them they had been quite literally starving to death and Fenris got up first to throw something together in the kettle hanging over the glowing coals.

Anders untangled himself next and took down the barrier that had become nearly transparent. He excused himself to relieve his bladder, leaving Hawke and Varric clinging to each other in their makeshift nest. Hawke wasn't horny or hungry or sleepy. She was just…numb. She wanted to leave the Deep Roads more than she ever wanted anything in her life, but the idea of going back into the real world with all those people clamoring for her attention, her skills,  _her_ , just seemed like too much. She didn't know if she could go home and pretend that nothing had changed, that  _she_  hadn't changed…and not exactly for the better.

As horrific as the entire experience had been there was something to be said about the freedom of simply living to survive. Gossip and politics and other people's problems had no bearing whatsoever. They had each been boiled down to their essentials; safety and food and escape had been their top priorities and everything else was just secondary. Gold didn't even matter, which was easy to say when they were sleeping on actual piles of treasure, but Hawke would have considered getting out of the Deep Roads with their lives a fair trade at that point.

Hawke's daggers were gone, lost or stolen or destroyed, but they had been in terrible condition anyway. Fenris found a short sword in the Wardens' cache that would serve her well enough if she needed to stab anything. None of them wanted to linger for longer than they absolutely had to, but they weren't exactly in any sort of condition to travel. Hawke's ankle and concussion were a little better but Varric still walked with a limp. Moving took more effort than either of them could manage. Grayson's healing and the bottles of lyrium Anders found helped, but mentally and spiritually they had all been crippled one way or another.

Varric hadn't said more than two words since they arrived at camp but he never left her side. He alternated between staring at her, face as pale and drawn as a sheet, and staring at his hands like they had betrayed him. He seemed to be building up to something but Hawke couldn't say for certain what. He moved in quick, agitated motions whenever he moved at all and had no stories or amusing anecdotes to regale them with, though they must have heard all of his stories twice over by now.

Hawke didn't blame him for missing his shot or that he'd aimed for the hurlock rather than her. She couldn't even say for sure she'd be able to return the favor if any of her companions contracted the blight. The decision had been easy enough with Aveline's husband when they'd been complete strangers at the time. Hawke didn't know what she would do if she was forced to choose between letting Varric or Anders or Fenris suffer or ending their lives herself.

Varric and Hawke sat side by side in silence after a breakfast of bland porridge that they barely touched. Hawke had been staring into the fire someone had built back up while Anders read and Fenris sharpened his sword when suddenly Varric stood without explanation and stormed off to the opposite end of the camp. He didn't go far but he kept his back to them, head bowed and hands curled into fists as he battled whatever inner demons were plaguing him.

Hawke wished she knew what to say to him, but if her beloved wordsmith was at a loss for words then she didn't stand a chance. She didn't look up when she heard the soft swish of robes but leaned into Anders' touch when he rested a hand on her shoulder like a bird settling upon a perch.

"If you want, I can try examining you now," Anders said quietly.

She and Varric hadn't been able to talk about the current state of her womb but Hawke discovered she couldn't bear to hold off not knowing any longer. She lowered her eyes, bit her lip, and nodded.

Like he'd been summoned, Varric appeared at her side in an instant with all of his earlier rage forgotten. He grabbed for her hand and Hawke squeezed back apprehensively as she stood. Anders left his hand on her shoulder and rested the other low on her belly through her leathers. He didn't usually need to make physical contact for his magic to work, but the touch was comforting.

She didn't feel much of anything when the hand on her stomach flared with a soft blue light. For a lack of anything better to do, she stared into his pale, haggard face and mentally counted down the seconds. He certainly didn't look like he had recovered enough to be wasting his magic on something as trivial as this, especially when they weren't out of the Deep Roads yet. She was just about to step away and claim she'd changed her mind just to spare him the mana when he frowned and shook his head.

"I…can't tell," Anders said, sounding frustrated when his magic faded and his hands slowly fell away. "I'm sorry, Hawke. I can take another lyrium potion and try again?"

"Don't worry about it, Anders. Thank you for trying."

Hawke mustered up a smile even though Varric was squeezing her hand hard enough to make her fingers ache. He was probably trying to keep himself from pouncing on Anders and wringing his neck.

"If your estimate is correct then you would still be in your first trimester," Anders said, considering her thoughtfully. "I've heard about women who do not display symptoms or in fact even know they're pregnant until they go into labor. It's extremely rare, of course, and I've delivered more than a few babies myself to know that's not usually the case. Either way, my advice is the same; rest, recover, eat well and minimize alcohol and potion consumption. And, for the love of the Maker, let's get the Void  _out_  of the blighted Deep Roads."

"Thanks, Blondie," Varric said in a voice rough with disuse and emotion. He gave Anders a tight smile that was closer to a grimace, but no one was about to call him out on it.

Anders looked between them with clear sympathy in his amber eyes. He nodded and left them to sort things out on their own.

Varric's shoulders dropped and he covered his eyes with the hand not currently squeezing the life out of Hawke's. Hawke wondered if maybe they did need to have that talk now. The idea of planning for a baby was starting to terrify her more than the thought of dying had. She didn't know what she would do if Varric decided he didn't want anything to do with her or a bastard child after this. He wasn't that much older than her and he pretty much had his life figured out. Or at least he had before she'd come along and fucked things up. She couldn't imagine anyone in their right mind would voluntarily want to be tied to someone as reckless and unstable as her.

Leandra would be thrilled at the possibility of becoming a grandmother even if she preferred that Hawke was married first. She'd probably have an opinion about Hawke's choice in partners, though she seemed to like Varric well enough. Bethany would be over the moon, Gamlen would bitch about another mouth to feed, Snowflake would be Snowflake, and Hawke...

Hawke really needed to stop getting ahead of herself.

There was a good possibility that she wasn't even pregnant to begin with and she could be making a big deal out of nothing.  _Maker_ , she just didn't want to think anymore. They had barely survived the Deep Roads and they weren't technically out of the woods yet.

She didn't want to consider the dismal chances of anything surviving what she'd put her body through - not only the past two months but the past two years as well. If not the drinking and the fighting, then the lack of anything resembling proper nutrition or regular health care was also a concern. Hawke wasn't a prime specimen of excellent mental health either so it was probably best for all if this pregnancy scare turned out to be a false alarm. Until she had confirmation one way or the other she was determined not to dwell on the matter.

…Which was easier said than done.

"Are you freaking out?" Hawke ventured tentatively and winced at how young and uncertain she sounded.

Varric gave a broken laugh and scrubbed at his face. "Actually, I think I'm freaking out over the fact I'm  _not_  freaking out. After the shit we've been through I can't say I mind the idea of holing up somewhere with you and listening to the pitter patter of little feet running down the hall. But is that what you want?"

"I don't know what I want," Hawke said, hand clenching and releasing around Varric's until he gave her both his hands to squeeze, which...helped. A little. "Does it have to be up to me?"

"Your body, your choice, Hawke. No one else has the right to make that decision for you. And if what you want is to not to be strapped with a kid right now then we'll handle that together, too. No matter what you choose, I'm always going to be here."

"But you have to have some opinion one way or the other!" Hawke insisted.

"Sure I do, but I'm not going to put that pressure on you."

"Maker, quit being so fucking diplomatic and just tell me what you want, Varric!" Hawke snapped, snatching her hands away and stalking a few steps away before turning back and folding her arms defensively across her chest.

"I want what you want," Varric said, shrugging.

Somehow the gesture was less dismissive and more…helpless. He was lucky she chose to interpret his response that way, otherwise she might have hauled off and decked him before finding someone who didn't drive her absolutely insane. Like Fenris. Or she could always become a cloister sister with Sebastian Vael. He was the former prince of Starkhaven turned Chantry brother who had hired Hawke earlier that year to kill the mercenaries responsible for the death of his family. He had a nice voice and wasn't terrible to look at. The pregnancy thing might be something of an issue later on but she was certain they could make it work out.

"If you want us to remain exactly as we are then that's fine with me," Varric said, soft and cajoling as he reached out for her. "And if you want to get married and have fifty children and seventeen mabari then the second we're topside I'll drag both our sorry asses down to the Chantry to make it official."

Hawke was stubborn but she let him take her hands only so she could drag him back up if he got the stupid idea to go down on one knee in front of her. Annoyingly enough, he didn't even need to kneel to make Hawke's heart leap up to her throat and her vision go blurry.

"I hate weddings," Hawke said just to be obstinate and hide the way her voice wanted to shake. "And fuck you if you think I'm having fifty of your babies. You want them so bad then you'd better get to work pushing them out yourself."

"So we'll adopt," he said easily with what was  _definitely_  a dismissive shrug that time. "I noticed you didn't say anything against the mabari."

"Because that's the only reasonable thing you've said this entire time," Hawke sniffed. She pretended it wasn't a sniffle when she took one hand back and swiped her wrist roughly across her cheek.

Fucking campfire smoke making her eyes water.

"It's going to be all right. I promise," Varric said softly. He pulled her in and Hawke melted into his arms rather than even attempt to put up a fight.

"Don't make promises you can't keep," she grumbled, snuggling closer when he ran a comforting hand down her back.

"I plan on keeping this one. 'Til death do us part and all that. But let's make the death part later rather than sooner, all right?"

"Agreed," Hawke said quickly. "Besides…nothing can get worse than the fucking Deep Roads, right?"

From somewhere behind them, Anders groaned.

* * *

They put together packs from the Warden's cache to bring in addition to the ones already heavy with treasure. They had survived this long with almost nothing in the way of supplies so technically they wouldn't need much for a two day journey back to the surface.

Hawke packed enough rations to last them all at least a month, if not two and breathed a little easier despite the added weight bearing down on her sternum. She left a handful of gold for Stroud and the Wardens as thanks for when they returned to camp. She couldn't possibly put a price on their lives or the Wardens' hospitality, but she hoped the gold at least helped pay for supplies or armor or whatever Wardeny things they'd need.

Like griffins, maybe. If they even still existed.

Anders took the lead with his maps as they followed the path Stroud had marked out for them. Miraculously, the group didn't encounter anything more dangerous than a startled nug and a steep incline that was Varric's brand-new arch nemesis. He bitched continuously, red-faced and panting and obviously much improved if he had the willpower to complain. Hawke had actually missed his complaining, which was a sure sign she was in deep.

Wind whistled through the tunnel and smacked Hawke full in the face. The fresh, salty sea air off the Wounded Coast was the most wonderful thing Hawke had ever smelled and she filled her lungs until she was certain they would burst. Daylight, even filtered through the clouds, threatened to sear Hawke's retinas when they finally emerged from a cave hidden between a clever configuration of high rock walls and stubby bushes. She squinted and cupped a hand over her brow as she took in the breathtaking view of the sea stretching on endlessly with white-capped waves breaking against the shore.

Anders and Fenris created a bookend at either shoulder and she reached for Varric's hand, which found hers automatically. Hawke threw her head back and barked out a laugh right before the four of them ran like children down to the beach discarding packs, armor, and clothing along the way. Their delighted shouts turned into high-pitched shrieks which quickly morphed into laughter and jokes about shrinkage as they crashed into the icy waves.

Hawke scooped up handfuls of sand and scrubbed at her skin until she was pink and raw. There wasn't much she could do for her hair without soap and a pair of scissors but it felt good to dunk her head and scratch her scalp vigorously. None of them were paying attention when an enormous wave caught them all off guard and nearly dragged Varric out to sea. Hawke, Fenris, and Anders formed a chain and dragged him back to shore while he'd spluttered and bitched about dwarves being too dense to swim. The jokes practically wrote themselves after that but all Hawke could do was bask in the overwhelming feeling of freedom and victory.

They splashed around in the shallows until the sun disappeared behind a thick patch of clouds and took away any lingering warmth. They bolted out of the sea just as fast as they'd gone in and huddled together on the beach, naked and shivering with nipples hard enough to cut glass until Anders got a pile of beach wood blazing hot enough to singe their eyebrows if they stood too close.

Hawke wrapped herself in a blanket and sat down on one of the hard, lumpy packs full of gold while Varric stood with his bare ass to the flames and fussed over her hair. It curled annoyingly in her eyes and past her jaw until Varric trimmed it down with a shaving razor and a comb he'd apparently salvaged from the Wardens' cache.

Anders and Fenris were each sitting on a separate bedroll laughing about something as they passed a waterskin back and forth between them like it was wine. They were in high spirits for the first time she could recall and Hawke reckoned her heart was full enough to burst. They had all been through the deepest pit the Void had to offer and come through the other side stronger and richer for the experience…if not more than a little traumatized.

Maker, the things she could do with the amount of gold digging into her left ass cheek alone. Buying back Mother's estate was first on the list along with new clothes, books, shit...even a new staff for Bethany. She could outright buy Merrill's horrid little apartment in the Alienage or, better yet, move all her friends someplace better. Anders wouldn't have to hide in Darktown, Fenris could renovate that old mansion he was squatting in, Isabela could have a new ship, Varric the Hanged Man...

The possibilities were endless.

And for herself, Hawke would never have to wonder where her next meal would come from. She wouldn't have to kill on anyone's say so or for a bit of coin. She could lounge around in nothing but the finest silk robes eating chocolates and getting drunk on expensive Antivan wines. She would probably be insane with boredom within a week, but that didn't matter. She could do anything she wanted now. Hawke had never known that kind of freedom in her life.

Hawke was tempted to suggest camping outside for one night before returning to their lives in Kirkwall, but it would just be her luck if they had their throats slit in the middle of the night by bandits or Coterie or Tal-Vashoth. They were really fucking lucky no one had come by and robbed them blind while they were out gallivanting through the waves. After all the shit they'd gone through for that treasure, Hawke would claw, bite, and maim anyone who dared take it from her with her bare hands. She still wasn't discounting cannibalism as an option.

Once she was dry and warm and had stuffed herself with as many rations as she could manage without throwing it all back up, Hawke reluctantly pulled on clothes so stiff with sweat, blood, and dirt they practically stood on their own. Her socks and boots were even worse since there was no way to rinse the sand off her feet without ending up with wet socks or boots full of mud. She had blisters on top of blisters, but she found the motivation to shoulder her pack and leave the bonfire and beach behind by fixing the image of Corff's ale and Varric's big, soft bed in her mind.

Kirkwall loomed as dark and oppressive as ever as the sand beneath their shuffling feet turned into dirt, which soon became pavement and cobblestones. They limped up to the gates on the south side of the city that lead up to the foundry district. The guards on duty barely gave them a second glance and waved them on through.

"Ah. Home sweet home. Finally," Varric announced entirely without irony as he paused to take in the oppressive, smoggy atmosphere of the city like he was back on the Wounded Coast enjoying the cool breeze.

They all held onto their packs a little tighter and glared down anyone who gave them more than a passing glance. Once they reached an area where the four of them would logically split ways, they only stood at the corner of the intersecting streets and stared at each other uncertainly.

Hawke didn't know if they were supposed to hug, kiss, or shove the Deep Roads expedition into a file of things they  _did not talk about_  and go their separate ways. They had been HawkeVarricAndersFenris for so long Hawke wasn't sure how to feel about the idea of no longer seeing the flash of Fenris' lyrium brands out of the corner of her eye as they cut down enemies in tandem or Anders' terrible jokes and gentle hands as he effortlessly took away her hurts.

Hawke almost,  _almost_  suggested they all retire to Varric's room at the Hanged Man and collapse together in a pitifully co-dependent puppy pile. She suddenly couldn't bear the thought of waking up without Anders' feathers in her mouth or without the feeling of Fenris' gauntlet oh so gently curled around her wrist in a silent apology for the injury he'd accidentally inflicted but Hawke had long since forgiven him for.

"Well, I guess this is it," Anders said hesitantly. He was the first brave enough to speak, though he scratched nervously at the back of his neck and lowered his eyes rather than meet any of theirs. "It's been...something."

"I think the word you're looking for is 'shit show', Blondie," Varric said.

"That's two words, Varric."

"What, are you my editor now?" Varric said and then gave a gusty sigh. "Maferath's balls. I don't even want to think about all the correspondence I have waiting for me. I'll be surprised if I'm not buried beneath an avalanche of angry letters and suspicious packages from my actual editor as soon as I open my door."

"And I probably have droves of patients waiting for me," Anders said, weary and guilty all at once. "I should be getting back to the clinic."

"And I should be going as well," Fenris said, making no excuses.

"I...should probably let my family know I'm back," Hawke said reluctantly and felt something like dismay tighten her chest even though it had been ages since she'd seen Bethany or her mother. She didn't doubt they were missing her and worrying every day whether or not she'd ever come home again.

"I think you're forgetting something, Hawke," Anders said with a curious little smile.

"And what, pray tell, would that be?"

"A 'holy shit we didn't die' fuck," all three men said in a deadpan.

Hawke choked out something that was a cross between a snort and a giggle. "Are all of you offering? It's about damn time."

"You know what? I'm too tired and out of any fucks to give at this point," Varric said. Then he glanced at Hawke. "Metaphorically speaking, of course. If you three don't mind me passed out on the edge of the bed then you're welcome to use mine."

"Only if you promise I get to be the big spoon," Anders said.

"Not a chance, Blondie."

"Damn," Anders said with a soft, affectionate smile that fanned fine lines around his eyes. "No offense, Hawke, but I'm afraid I'll have to pass. Thank you, though. For everything."

"I've never buggered a dwarf before," Fenris mused unexpectedly.

Hawke guffawed at the look of horror that crossed Varric's face.

"Broody, I've seen your version of fisting up close and personal. I'm afraid this window of opportunity has officially been shut, locked, and boarded over. Except for Hawke. You always have an open invitation, babe."

"Thanks, darling," Hawke said, all sugar-sweet sarcasm.

She laced her fingers with Varric's and didn't plan on letting go until they were horizontal. Or unconscious. Her mother and Bethany would be fine one more day. She dragged Varric along with her as she wrapped Anders in a tight, one-armed hug and brushed her lips against the razor-sharp edge of Anders' prickly jaw. Varric reached out and snagged Fenris, drawing him into a supremely uncomfortable four-way embrace. Fenris and Anders bristled like two rival cats but Hawke pretended not to notice.

"Take care, you two. Blondie, try not to get robbed or give your pack away to the first refugee you see on the way back to your clinic," Varric said.

"Actually, I already have plans for what I'll be able to accomplish with this. Helping refugees is definitely part of it, but now I'll actually be able to fund a..." Anders seemed to become aware of their location and lowered his voice, glancing around cautiously. "...a mage underground. Securing passage and safe houses for mages wishing to be free of the Circle once and for all doesn't come cheap, but this will definitely help."

Hawke supposed there was some personal progress since Fenris only shrugged off Varric's hold and glowered, clearly biting his tongue.

"And what are your plans, Broody?"

"Wine. Lots and lots of wine."

"Ah. Should have guessed," Varric laughed. "Well, it's probably best that we don't stand around like a group of idiots begging to be mugged. You both know where to find us if you need anything."

Hawke warmed inside at Varric's use of the word 'us'. She reluctantly released Anders and stepped back with Varric's hand still tucked in hers. She used his presence as fortification against the wave of crushing loneliness that suddenly wanted to crash over her head. There wasn't much to say after that. Hawke and Varric watched as Anders hitched his treasure-laden pack higher on his shoulder and disappeared around a corner while Fenris loped northward toward Hightown.

"I wonder if Bartrand came back to the city. You think I'd be that lucky?" Varric mused.

"Revenge isn't really the most pressing thing on my mind right now," Hawke said, more tired than suggestive.

"I know," Varric said, wilting a little from his initial elation at being home again. "I'm sorry…about what happened back there. For a lot of things, actually. I should have seen Bartrand's betrayal coming. I'll find that maggot if it's the last thing I do."

Varric swore and rubbed at his forehead like he was developing a headache from just the thought of his brother. Bartrand was very low on the list of things that concerned Hawke at the moment. However, if she ever saw that traitorous, backstabbing nug fucker again she would have to fight Varric for the rights to gut him first.

"I imagine you'll be heading home to…tell the family?" Varric asked.

Hawke's heart lurched at the cautious uncertainty in his voice. She pressed a hand to her stomach without thinking, trying to contain the anxious flutters. His eyes tracked the movement and for an instant his expression flashed with naked anguish.

"I don't have much choice," Hawke said numbly, letting her fingers become lax as she started to draw away.

The look passed and became something solid and fierce as he grabbed for her hand again and turned to face her. "You always have a choice, Hawke. Don't forget you'll be a wealthy woman. It wasn't all for nothing."

Somehow, the gold weighing her down was less of a comfort than it should have been.

"Is it all right if I stop in at the Hanged Man with you first? Corff will be so happy to see us that he might even cry. I wouldn't want to miss the opportunity to witness that," Hawke said casually, fooling no one.

A smile Hawke hadn't seen in weeks broke out over Varric's face.

"Of course, Hawke. Maybe if we're lucky Corff will have something on the menu that won't end up doing what the darkspawn and wraiths and dragon couldn't accomplish and finish us off."

Hawked groaned as they started in the direction of the Hanged Man in Lowtown. "As long as it isn't nug I'll eat anything."

"You might end up eating those words, Hawke."

"I'll take my chances."

The sky was turning dusky shades of blue and orange by the time they approached the familiar building with the iron figure swinging from the awning. No one had stopped them on the way there which was a miracle since they were both stumbling with exhaustion and would probably be easy pickings for bandits or cutpurses. Varric pushed open the door and ushered Hawke inside with a hand against the small of her back. The dim interior was a relief on her sensitive eyes but the odor of smoke, ale, and old vomit nearly made her turn tail and flee with a hand clapped over her mouth. Hawke held her breath and made herself walk inside.

"You two look like something Hawke's dog ate, threw up, ate again, and shit out," Corff said without preamble. He looked exactly the same as he had when they'd left two months prior. He was even wiping down the very same spot on the bar with the same dirty rag.

"Good to see you, too, Corff," Varric said with a tired but real grin.

Hawke could see years falling away from Varric's face and some of the tension ease from his shoulders. Everything from the sticky floors to the drunks passed out in the corner seemed unchanged. She'd half-expected the Hanged Man to burn down in their absence, but in actuality the building was probably less of a liability without either of them there.

"Speaking of Snowflake. Have you seen him? Or my sister?" Hawke asked, unable to keep the worry out of her voice.

"It's been a few weeks but I've seen 'em around, sure. Sometimes they're with that pirate of yours or the guard captain. Other times they're with the girl elf, but she comes by less often. Everything's been pretty quiet since you left. Suppose that means it'll go back to shit soon," Corff said with a straight face that would be a full-blown smirk on anyone else.

Hawke let it pass.

"Listen, you can catch us up on everything later. There's a sovereign in it for you and Norah each if you have a hot meal brought to our usual table and a hot bath drawn in my room. Two if you manage it in half an hour," Varric said, sliding the promised sovereigns across the bar.

Corff didn't stop "cleaning" but the coins disappeared and he nodded. "Done. You want rose petals in your bath water and a chocolate left on your pillow, too?" He was clearly being sarcastic though his face and tone never changed.

Hawke leaned against the bar and looked him dead in the eyes. "Corff, if you manage all that I'll make it three sovereigns on top of what Varric already gave you."

Corff's sloe eyes passed between the pair of them. He lowered his head and said casually but quietly, "The Deep Roads expedition must have worked out then. Good on you. I'll have your dinner and bath sent up."

"Good man," Varric said, tapping the bar. "But you missed a spot."

Corff flicked his rag at Varric and went into the back to relay their order to Norah. Their usual table was unoccupied which meant Corff hadn't presumed them dead and sold Varric's standing reservation off to the highest bidder. Hawke knew that if she sat down she might not get back up so she propped herself up on the arm of Varric's chair after he dropped into it like his legs had been cut out from beneath him.

A new serving girl who introduced herself as Edwina brought by the standard bread basket and tankards of ale to tide them over until dinner was ready. After a bit of expert prying, Varric turned up that Edwina was a refugee who had worked at the Gnawed Noble Tavern in Denerim. Hawke was glad that she hadn't ended up at the quarry, in a gang, or selling her body for coin - as was the fate of most Fereldens who had come to Kirkwall. Hawke tipped her generously, hoping it stayed that way.

Hawke nibbled cautiously on a bread roll and sipped at a watered down mug of ale, remembering all too keenly the nug incident. Thankfully, the food and drink went down well enough; however, she was practically bursting at the seams after only a few bites. Norah hadn't even brought their actual dinner out yet. Hawke figured her stomach must have shrunken drastically after going so long without eating. Varric, on the other hand, was packing away bread and ale at an impressive rate so he must not have the same problem.

In between Edwina and Corff marching up and down the stairs with pails of water, Norah dropped off two steaming bowls of stew that was rich with gravy, root vegetables, and meat. The smell instantly turned Hawke's stomach when she caught a whiff.

"Not hungry?" Varric asked. He paused with a spoon halfway to his mouth when he caught her staring down at her bowl like there was a viper curled up in the bottom. "I'm pretty sure the meat's cooked well enough that it's not even wiggling anymore."

"Ugh. That's an image I didn't need," Hawke said, shoving her bowl away and slopping some of the stew over the rim.

She slid off the arm of his chair and settled into her usual seat, figuring she might as well sit down and stay a while. She dragged over a bottle of wine that Corff had dropped off himself. He was probably hoping they'd get too drunk to remember that he promised them chocolate and rose petals, the charmer. She uncorked the bottle and poured herself a generous amount, but Varric shook his head when she tilted the bottle toward him in a silent offering. He set his spoon down and gave her his undivided attention instead.

Hawke groaned and put down the bottle, covering her face with her hands. "Here we go…" she muttered.

"Are you feeling okay, Hawke?" Varric said on cue, voice low and concerned. "Is it... you know?"

Her mind felt as thick and chunky as the stew. The clamor of voices and the clatter of dishware was giving her a headache. For a minute, she didn't know what he was talking about, but then she followed the more obvious threads of logic and shook her head vehemently when she reached the same conclusion. Morning - or evening - sickness was not on the list of things she felt up to dealing with.

"I really don't think so," Hawke said, digging her palms into her burning eyes. "Can we just pretend everything is normal again for a little while? Please?"

She was tired but at the same time she wasn't looking forward to all of the nightmares and traumatic flashbacks she was probably going to have courtesy of the Deep Roads. She didn't want to move from this spot or even breathe until she became part of the furniture, easily overlooked or outright ignored.

"Of course," Varric agreed readily enough, but his brow didn't lose that concerned crease. He picked up his spoon and started eating at a far more sedate pace, pretending not to watch her.

Hawke reached for her glass and took a large gulp of wine but the strong, bitter notes were far too strong for her dulled palate. She had to fight not to choke or cough and very deliberately set the glass aside as well. She used to be able to down an entire bottle on her own but even that one mouthful was enough to make her head spin.

Nothing was right.  _She_  wasn't right.

It felt like they had been in the Deep Roads for years, not months. Returning to Kirkwall only to find that nothing had changed when she had been taken apart and reassembled – poorly - was...jarring. And wrong. And confusing. The Hanged Man wasn't even particularly rowdy that early in the evening, but the smells and sounds and even the candlelight were agony on her senses. She wondered if this was how all dwarves felt coming to the surface for the first time or if was just her. Varric seemed to be acclimating fine.

"Can we go to your room?" Hawke asked quietly, sorry that she hadn't been able to hold out longer for Varric's sake.

"I was done anyway," Varric said agreeably as he pushed aside his unfinished meal.

Hawke felt a pang of guilt. Only a few days ago she would have traded Varric's left nut for a bowl of stew. It seemed a sin to waste perfectly edible food but she couldn't make herself eat with so much roiling in her gut already.

"We can save these leftovers for later," Varric said, clearly reading her mind. "Maybe you'll feel better in a few hours."

"Yeah," Hawke said, but she didn't count on it.

Upstairs, Varric's room looked as if it'd been frozen in time. A pair of boots was lying on the floor, the doors to his armoire were flung open as if it'd been ransacked - or he'd been in a hurry to pack - and his desk was a mess overflowing with unopened letters and books and parchment. The air was a little musty but Norah or Edwina had put fresh linen on the bed and there, as requested, was a chocolate on the pillow. Or at least a chocolate-colored confectionary that Hawke actually managed to get down much easier than the stew or wine.

Varric locked both their packs in his chest and set a failsafe and a number of traps. Hawke could probably get past them in about an hour and only lose half her fingers. She rubbed her thumb over the rough patch of skin where one of her fingernails used to be and decided not to press her luck. She honestly didn't care if she ever saw a piece of that treasure again and was more than happy to let Varric play banker.

The bath was halfway filled with water that billowed steam into the chill air. Once again Hawke felt that jarring sense of wrongness for the sheer waste. All she wanted was to gorge herself on food, soak in a hot bath, drink herself stupid, and pass out in an actual bed without feeling so damned guilty. It was like she didn't even fit in her own skin anymore.

Hawke stripped out of her boots and armor and chucked all of her filthy clothes right into the flames crackling merrily in the fireplace. She didn't even care that she had nothing to replace them with. She didn't doubt that Varric would eventually take it upon himself to clear out one of his dresser drawers and stock it with human-sized clothing tailored suspiciously to her exact measurements - if he hadn't done so already.

There weren't rose petals in the bath but someone had left a fragrant cake of floral-scented soap on the edge of the tub which was even better. She and Varric gave themselves a preliminary wash standing next to the drain built into the floor. Varric's hair lightened several shades after the repeated application of soap and water. Hawke's hair was black to begin with but she had to rinse the suds out of her hair three times before the water she poured over her head ran clear instead of grey and rust-colored.

Hawke's reservations about wasting water immediately vanished when she stepped into the bath. The water was hot enough to flush her pale skin pink and the tub was so wide that if she stretched out everything below her chin was submerged.

"Any room for me in there?" Varric teased. He sat on the edge of the stone tub and trailed his hand in the bathwater, fingers bumping lightly against her knee.

"Mm," Hawke said, closing her eyes in utter bliss. "I think I could fall asleep in here."

"Then I suppose I'd better get in to make sure you don't drown."

"If you must." Hawke flicked her fingers, splashing him a bit.

She cracked open an eye as he climbed in and, for the first time in what felt like ages, actually  _looked_  at him. She could count each vertebra in his spine and see the flex of his shoulder blades beneath withered muscle. Even his delightfully rounded backside was flat and flabby with excess skin.

Hawke tried not to look at herself, but she couldn't help noticing that she was positively skeletal. Her small breasts were non-existent while her knees and ankles looked disproportionately large and swollen in comparison. Her thigh was probably as big around as her upper arm used to be before the expedition. Her fingers fit into the grooves of her ribs and she followed the slope of her stomach down to the hollow scoop of her hips which tapered off into the hard protrusion of her pubic bone.

She was shocked that anyone could be so thin and still survive. She'd seen undead with more meat on them. It was a wonder she could lift so much as a finger without her bones crumbling to dust. Hawke didn't know when she started to cry but Varric was at her side in a heartbeat. He wrapped arms that were still strong and comforting around her and she buried her face against his neck, eyes stinging worse than if she'd gotten soap in them.

Maker, there were so many ways the expedition could have gone wrong...  _had_  gone wrong. Despite their months of careful planning, nothing could have prepared them for the trials that had awaited them down in the Deep Roads.

She had a profound respect for Grey Wardens not only because they'd ended the Blight and saved her life but because fighting darkspawn was what they  _did_. They devoted their lives to the cause and according to Anders all they got out of the deal were severely shortened lifespans and a retirement plan that involved being Called into the Deep Roads to die before the taint turned them into ghouls.

Hawke didn't blame him at all for abandoning the Order. She regretted dragging him back into the nightmare he'd been hoping to escape. She missed him and Fenris like severed limbs and ached at the thought of them alone, knowing Anders was returning to his dank, filthy clinic and Fenris to his creepy, abandoned mansion still littered with corpses.

At least Hawke had Varric to help her transition back into society, but Fenris and Anders had no one. Or at least no one who understood exactly what they'd been through and could potentially distract them from self-destructive thoughts like the ones currently plaguing Hawke. She'd hoped, perhaps naively, that Anders and Fenris would have found solace in each other, but their relationship had only evolved from outright hatred to somewhat antagonistic toward the end.

Varric didn't try to talk her out of being upset or frightened or a bit lonely. He eased her with the sound of his heartbeat beneath her ear and his hands cradling her emaciated form without revulsion. Hawke was too lost inside her own head to appreciate their first time alone together in months or even make more than a paltry attempt at bathing. Varric soon took over and he worked a soapy flannel over every inch of her. Her skin felt paper thin and it was a wonder it didn't slough off in chunks despite how gently he tended her. Once they were both clean they soaked until their toes and fingertips pruned before laboriously dragging themselves out of the bath.

Hawke toweled off while Varric scraped away the thick growth of hair on his face that had come dangerously close to a respectable beard. She almost wished he'd kept it if only to hide the achingly defined lines of his jaw and the gauntness of his once full cheeks. She felt like they had aged twenty years in the time they'd been gone. Maybe she was a coward for hiding away but she didn't want her mother or sister to see her in this condition, body and spirit wasted away and barely holding it together by a fraying thread. She needed time to feel like a complete human being again, not this broken shell of a thing that she'd become.

The warmth of the bath and full stomachs conspired to make them both next to useless. They didn't exchange any words before they collapsed onto the bed in a sprawl of intertwined limbs and curled up together beneath a mound of blankets.

They woke the next...whenever...in the exact same position they had passed out. Someone had left a covered tray of food inside the door and Hawke winced at the reminder that they hadn't even locked the door before passing out. Corff and Norah both had a key but they rarely used it except for specific requests like preparing a bath or bringing Varric's mail. Hawke didn't even want to know how many trees were being killed on his behalf as she eyed the number of envelopes that had fallen to the floor once the surface of his desk had been completely covered with stacks of letters.

Breakfast consisted of scrambled eggs, toast, jam-filled pastries, and strong tea. Hawke actually managed a few bites of everything which helped her feel a little more human. Varric unlocked his trunk for her in a matter of seconds and sat at his desk to start sorting his mail into piles. Neither of them actually bothered to get dressed in anything more than a short robe on Varric's part. Hawke threw a blanket over her shoulders and sat on the floor while she dumped out the contents of their packs and started making her own piles.

She grouped the metals together into a large pile of gold coins, a slightly smaller pile of silver, seven solid gold bars, and a chunk of silverite as big as her fist. Next, she made a rainbow spread of precious gems across the floor: diamonds, sapphires, rubies, emeralds, amethysts, rose quartz, lapis, and several other gemstones that she didn't even know the names of.

Varric hadn't kept the crown, unfortunately, but between them they had over twenty rings with jewels set into thick bands of metal – all of which were far too big for her fingers. There were bracelets and anklets and diadems and necklaces by the dozen. She couldn't help noting with no small amount of satisfaction that none of the pieces compared to the necklace Varric had given her.

Hawke had nabbed a pair of platinum and crystal chalices inset with diamonds and rune etchings all along the rim. She was pretty sure they would grant immortality to anyone who drank out of them or else curse them for generations. Clearly, she'd been listening to far too many of Varric's stories but she set them aside just in case. She nearly cut her fingers on shards of broken ceramic that must have been the vases that didn't survive the journey. Hawke also set the pieces aside on the off chance they could be repaired.

There were a few miscellaneous items like a pair of metal-worked gauntlets that might fit Hawke once she put on some weight, a heavy gold scepter that could double as a weapon, and a small statue of a figure carved from cooled lava. Thankfully it didn't resemble the creepy idol Bartrand had fucked them over for. Hawke wondered if that asshole managed to return from the Deep Roads with the rest of the expedition team. If he did, then maybe he was smart enough to disappear before word got back to either Hawke or Varric regarding his whereabouts.

After everything was carefully arranged and sorted, she shoved it all back into the bags and dumped them into the chest without taking inventory or dividing the take evenly. She and Varric already had the fucking baby talk so they may as well merge their finances while they were at it. He was better than her at managing money anyway and it wasn't as if she could take her cursed chalices back to Gamlen's and not expect them to end up missing.

Hawke went back to the bed and flopped down on her back. She was bored without anything else to keep her occupied. She felt anxious and lethargic at the same time, itching to do something,  _anything_ , but also not wanting to move. Her boots and armor could stand to be cleaned and mended until she could find replacements, but it wasn't as if she had any clothing to wear under them and leather chafed like a  _bitch_. With nothing else to do, she rolled out of bed and went searching for clothing in Varric's wardrobe and dresser. He didn't look up even when Hawke slammed the drawers open and shut with a little more force than necessary, completely absorbed in his work.

All of his clothing would completely swamp her, especially now, while still managing to be too short in the arms and legs. She wasn't planning on going out anytime soon so she slipped on one of his red tunics embroidered with gold. Even on him, the tunics left plenty of skin bare. The hem barely covered her ass and the deep cut of the neckline bared her from throat to navel, leaving most of her chest exposed. She caught Varric staring like he'd swallowed an orange whole.

She twitched her lips and slowly pivoted around so he could see her at all angles.

"Acceptable?"

"Uh. Yeah," he said, flatteringly tongue-tied.

"Then I suppose it's only fair that you wear something of mine, too," Hawke teased, toying with the edge of the collar so the soft material brushed back and forth over her nipple.

Varric had to tear his eyes away and cleared his throat. "Unless you want me wearing nothing but cinders and your boots, Hawke..."

"There has to be something around here."

"If there is then good luck finding anything that'll fit."

Hawke thought she remembered seeing something earlier and attacked his dresser with renewed vigor. After several minutes of searching, she found what she was looking for. There, buried at the bottom of the drawer containing his trousers, were the silky blue knickers of Hawke's that Varric had rescued from Snowflake.

"Ah ha! I knew you'd kept these, you giant pervert!" Hawke declared. She balled up the smallclothes and pitched them at Varric, who dropped his pen and caught them one-handed.

"And how exactly am I supposed to wear these? As an eyepatch?" Varric said dubiously, pinching the skimpy fabric between two fingers.

"You're a smart man. You'll figure it out."

Hawke refused to let Varric talk his way out of wearing them. She had embarrassed herself in front of him more times than she could count so it was only fair that he evened the playing field if only just this once.

"Are you ready yet?" Hawke called impatiently from the corner Varric had made her stand in with her backed turned while he got "dressed." She resisted the urge to peek with great difficulty but the anticipation was starting to make her giggly.

"Don't look!" Varric said, voice strained. "Maker's hairy asshole. Nothing  _fits_."

"They're not supposed to fit. They're essentially floss for your butt, Varric," Hawke said, losing the battle against her giggles.

"Whoever designed these should be shot," Varric grumbled, which Hawke interpreted as permission to turn around.

It was so much worse and even better than she'd been imagining.

Blue silk was stretched tight over Varric's junk - obscenely so. He was one twitch away from having his balls escape, but judging by the purpling head of his cock that peeked out from beneath the waistband he didn't mind having his butt flossed nearly as much as he claimed. He was already leaking precome, staining the garment irreparably.

Despite his obvious arousal the look on his face was pinched and  _priceless._

"This damn thing is practically up my colon!" he complained over the sound of Hawke's braying laughter. She had to brace herself with a hand against the wall to keep from falling over. "I don't know how women stand it."

"You get used to it," Hawke said swallowing back hiccups as she wiped away tears. "Sorry, sorry."

She held her hands up in defense when he shot her a scathing look and fidgeted uncomfortably. He'd risen up on his tiptoes, presumably to escape the material attempting to strangle his internal organs. Hawke could have told him that wouldn't work. She moved away from the wall and circled around him to get a better look but he clapped both hands over his backside and turned so she couldn't see behind him.

"Going to make me do this the hard way, then?" Hawke purred, sidling up to rest her hands on his hips.

Varric started to protest but then Hawke hooked a finger around the waistband. She pulled it out as far as it would go before snapping it against his hip. Varric yelped and his cock jerked, dribbling more wetness as his face went bright red.

"Hawke—" he said warningly.

Another snap and Varric nearly bit through his tongue. Surprisingly, he kept his protests to himself after that.

Hawke left the waistband alone and stroked her hands over his chest, shoulders, and arms loving the tickle of hair beneath her palms. Varric stared forward without blinking. His face was fixed in a mutinous scowl despite the way his cock twitched and leaked when she scratched lightly at the trail of hair that disappeared beneath the waistband of his knickers.

"Say 'uncle' and I'll give," Hawke taunted. She slid her hands back up to his chest and scraped the edge of a ragged thumbnail again and again over Varric's nipple until it pebbled helplessly beneath her touch.

"You really want me to call out Gamlen's name at a time like this?"

"Andraste's ass,  _no_." Hawke made a face and her hands stilled. "Just…if you're uncomfortable or anything, we don't have to…"

"The only thing I'm uncomfortable with is this string up my ass, but everything else… I'll let you know if it's too much."

Hawke relaxed and ceased her tormenting of Varric's nipples to loop her arms around his neck. She bent so their foreheads rested together when he turned his face up toward hers.

"Why, Varric. I almost think you want me to make you beg for it."

"Don't get carried away, Hawke. You have about ten minutes before this thing ends up castrating me."

"I won't even need five to get you off."

"Let's hope so, for both our sakes."

With her time limit locked firmly in mind, Hawke dropped to her knees with a bone-rattling  _thump_  that made them both grimace. She ignored the pain and hooked her fingers through Varric's waistband, grazing her knuckles back and forth against his hips. He squirmed in place and bit down hard on his lip. Hawke laughed when she figured out he was  _ticklish_.

Oh, the blackmail possibilities were endless.

"Four minutes, Hawke," Varric reminded her because he was the kind of asshole who would actually give her a deadline and hold her to it while receiving oral sex.

Hawke nipped at his belly and drew the knickers taut until the waistband dug in just beneath the head of his cock. She ducked down and pressed her lips against the ridge of him through the knickers before he could jerk away. She mouthed over his balls through the thin barrier separating them, soaking the silk as she laved it with her tongue and exhaled hot air over the soggy material.

She tugged the waistband down until it sat snug underneath Varric's balls, shifting his whole package up. Hawke wondered if ball brassieres were even a thing or if she should have them patented as well. Either way, it put Varric's cock on perfect display and all she had to do was lean down, close her mouth around him, and suck while she braced her hands against his thighs.

He hissed sharply and flailed for something to hold onto. His hand slapped against the bedpost and he leaned heavily against the polished wood as Hawke took him no further than an inch or two, working him mercilessly with suction as she drilled the tip of her tongue into his slit. His knees went wobbly and Hawke released him with a wet  _pop_. She lapped at him like he was a melting ice treat before sucking kisses down the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft.

"T-Three," he rasped and Hawke's eyes flicked upward in annoyance.

She closed her mouth around him again but this time she took him deep into her throat and  _hummed_. His legs actually did go out on him that time and he sat down heavily on the edge of the bed, nearly missing the mattress entirely. Hawke pulled back so she didn't accidentally bite him before attacking him with renewed vigor. She shoved his knees apart and made room for herself between them. She actually felt her stomach growl with hunger as she drooled all over his cock.

Considering the way Varric's eyes popped open wide he could only be recalling all of the conversations about cannibalism they'd had. Hawke laughed despite herself and Varric  _moaned_ , head falling back against the bed as he flung an arm over his eyes.

" _Two_ ," he still had the audacity to say.

He hissed when Hawke raked her nails down the insides of his thighs hard enough to leave raised welts and traced the lines with her tongue. His wet cock bobbed against her cheek and left a smear of moisture on her skin but she ignored it in favor of devoting attention to his large, heavy balls. She curled her hand around Varric's cock but didn't stroke him. She took one ball and then the other into her mouth, moaning obscenely as she sucked and rolled them around with her tongue.

When Varric was gasping like a beached fish Hawke jammed a knuckle behind his balls and squeezed his cock hard. His hips snapped forward and he came with a shout. She angled him so he striped his chest and belly with come rather than the side of her face. After she'd wrung the last spurts out of him Varric flopped on the bed in a sprawl on his back. He looked completely fucked out and shameless with his knickers still caught around his thighs.

"One," Hawke said smugly.

She twanged the waistband one more time before she clambered over Varric to lick up the mess they had made. She made sure to get every last drop and swirled her tongue around each of his nipples when she was through. When they were hard little peaks on his chest, Hawke mouthed her way up his throat and chin. He grasped the handles of her hipbones in his hands and sighed out a pleased groan into her mouth.

"Did we actually bet anything?" Varric asked in a clear daze as he tried to chase Hawke's lips when she peppered his face with giggly kisses.

"We bet on your balls not falling off. I had no idea when you bought all those knickers they were actually for you."

"Laugh it up, Hawke," Varric said in a self-suffering manner as he hooked an arm around her waist and rolled her over. "Buttfloss is highly underrated."

He ripped the knickers off impatiently and hiked her borrowed tunic up to her waist as he pressed himself between her legs. He hadn't recovered quickly enough to actually fuck her but he moved against her like he was anyway. His thumb found her clit without even needing to look as he stared down at her face, stroking slow circles until Hawke bit her lip and whimpered.

"How do you want to do this?" he asked as he leaned over her.

The tunic had fallen off one shoulder and his breath brushed over her exposed chest before he dragged the flat of his tongue over a nipple without breaking eye contact. They both knew she'd been without birthbane for quite a while and it was an even split on whether or not she was actually pregnant. There was a little more at stake than simply telling him which hole to stick his dick into. Her ass and mouth were safe bets but somehow the idea of vaginal sex with no precautions or contraceptives felt too much like giving in or committing to something she still didn't know if she wanted.

She didn't believe in soulmates or that people only ever had one true love. She had loved Millie, too. Once upon a time, they'd even discussed their life together after the war. She was going to introduce her to her family and dreamed of a simple life where the two of them would retire to Millie's family farm to raise cows and sheep together. Neither of them was foolish enough to make plans where they could be overheard, but they sketched designs for hidden cellars and tunnels in the dirt before quickly scuffing the evidence away when they heard anyone coming.

Hawke imagined they would collect as many runaway children as they could who started to manifest magic and hide them from templars. They wouldn't have been able to have any biological children of their own, unless Carver agreed to be a donor, but none of it had mattered in the end. Millie had died and taken all of Hawke's hopes and dreams along with her.

Hawke didn't want to be the reason Varric threw away his own future. They still had the chance to end their romantic relationship on amicable terms and remain friends if they wanted to see other people or go off and make a few more stupid decisions before getting tied down. Hawke loved him but she didn't  _need_  him. Not yet, but it was getting harder and harder not to lean on him every time she fell to pieces.

Soon they would be so intertwined that attempting to separate would only result in tearing themselves apart. A baby would definitely be one of those unbreakable links. Until Anders or the swelling of her still-flat belly confirmed things Hawke wasn't ready to take that sort of risk again.

"Can we...just use fingers? At least until we know for certain if I'm..."

If she was pregnant then it wouldn't matter. They would deal and life would go on, albeit with a few unexpected complications. If she wasn't knocked up then she would make it a priority to get her ass immediately to Sol's to stock up on enough birthbane to fell an ogre just so they wouldn't have to deal with the stress of not knowing again. They could go back to casual fucking without the risk of it becoming something more.

"Sure," Varric said so readily that Hawke suspected him of using his Wicked Grace skills on her.

She hated that he couldn't read him and that she was an open book to him. The kind with colorful illustrations and small words written in big, blocky print. Rather than fight him for being too damned agreeable, Hawke rolled over onto her stomach and buried her face in a pillow so she wouldn't scream. She twitched at the first brush of his hands against her back and forced herself to relax even though her shoulders were knotted up to her ears.

Varric took his time running his hands over her and knelt up so he could reach. He straddled her thighs without putting any weight on Hawke's legs as he expertly worked out the tension she'd been carrying for however long. She didn't even notice how much pain she'd been in until her muscles seized and then melted beneath Varric's skillful fingers. The relief flooding her body was almost better than any orgasm.

Hawke mentally checked out while Varric worked, sinking further and further into the downy mattress as he uncoiled knots of tension in her shoulders, neck, and back until she was a limp puddle that he could easily maneuver.

Varric scooted off the bed and guided her hips up so that she was kneeling with her ass in the air while he stood on the floor behind her. He wouldn't be able to fuck her without a stool or a stepladder like this, but the position put them at the right height so Varric could spread apart her cheeks and swipe his tongue over her twitching hole. They couldn't do this in the Deep Roads but at least she had bathed so all he would taste was clean skin.

Hawke hugged the pillow to her chest and moaned unabashedly. Varric licked, sucked, nibbled until she was a quivering mess and he could slip two fingers into her soaking wet cunt without any resistance. She clamped down on his fingers and warbled out a moan. She worked herself back against his hand while he rimmed her so thoroughly she was pretty certain he'd be able to reach her upper intestines and tell what she had for breakfast.

Hawke let herself  _feel_  without thinking and orgasm rushed over her like a wave in the Waking Sea. For a brief instant she was back on the Wounded Coast again, breathing in her first lungful of freedom while she trembled and moaned on Varric's bed. The impression only lasted a few seconds and slipped through her fingers like water. She collapsed into a wrung-out pile, feeling unaccountably bereft as she shivered with the aftershocks.

Hawke didn't even care that he'd just had his tongue in her ass when she rolled onto her back and pulled Varric down to kiss him. She felt hollow and out of place once the endorphins were swept back out to sea. She clung to him as if his very presence could drown out those awful feelings that didn't make sense when she was finally safe and home again.

After cleaning up a bit they had lunch and napped before Varric resumed his paperwork. Hawke pretended to read one of the trashy romance novels she'd plucked off his bookshelf while actually staring vacantly at the wall or at the back of Varric's head bowed over his desk. Before she realized how much time had passed Edwina knocked softly on their door with dinner. She brought a covered tray with pan-seared trout, steamed greens and lentils, a fresh loaf of bread, a dish of churned butter, and lemon custard for dessert.

It wasn't fancy by any means but the spread was lavish according to the Hanged Man's standards. Either the new girl could actually cook something that wasn't a variation of meat pies, limp tubers in gravy, stew, chowder, or Corff's bloody Friday specials, or they had the food delivered from somewhere far more reputable than a Lowtown tavern. Varric wasn't at all stingy indulging in creature comforts and either way Corff, Norah, and Edwina were definitely earning their coin.

Varric requested a bucket of hot water be brought up when Norah came to collect their dishes and they had a cursory wash before tumbling into bed to go to sleep. Hawke from two months ago would have bet everything she owned that she and Varric couldn't spend five minutes in each other's company without talking, but they'd gone almost an entire day together without exchanging more than a handful of words. It wasn't like they were lacking for things to talk about, but somewhere down in the dark they had learned to coexist in silence. They communicated with a tilt of the head, a brush of fingers, and the still, alert body language they both adopted when they heard footsteps or voices in the hall. They didn't need to say anything when both of them kept their weapons close and each other closer.

Hawke knew she'd have to go home sooner or later but her mother and Bethany would fuss over her even worse than Varric did. She wanted at least a few days of being a hermit to get used to being back in her own skin again. As soon as she returned, everything would change. She wasn't the same Marian Hawke that had walked full of brass and bravado into the Deep Roads all those weeks ago.

She was a shade of herself; a literal skeleton lacking guts and a spine. Even stepping out into the hallway took more courage than she had to spare. She couldn't be the leader or figurehead or the sister or daughter or friend people expected her to be. It was all she could do to drag herself out of bed most days. She would have lost track of the days if not for the arrival of their meals to tell how much time had passed. Three half-eaten dinners later and she still hadn't left.

Hawke hid shamelessly behind Varric's diminutive shadow, some days quite literally pulling the blankets over her head to dull the sensory input from candlelight or distant voices downstairs that threatened to overwhelm her. Despair trailed so doggedly at her heels that she would have had to ward off literal demons in addition to the psychological ones if she'd been a mage.

She wondered how Anders was doing, if he was plagued by dark, insidious whispers that slipped past the fragile, cracked places inside. She hoped Justice acted as a barrier between Anders and other demons. Anders had been so run down by the time they'd returned to the surface that she didn't know if he was a bigger target in the Fade or less of one without the surplus of mana drawing others' attention to him.

Fenris was strong but she didn't know how much of his strength was part of the wall he'd built up to keep those who would take advantage from seeing him vulnerable. One tap and all of his shields could come tumbling down and she was afraid that she wouldn't be there to help him pick up the pieces. He'd been there for her with a hand to help her up after she'd fallen, weak with hunger and exhaustion. He'd guarded her back in a fight and in sleep. She missed his hand on her wrist and his breath soft in her ear just as much as her arms missed the shape of Anders' waist and the smell of his stupid, musty feathers.

Hawke's heart and head and body ached all over as the days stretched into unending monotony, sinking deeper and deeper into depression. Varric spent the majority of his time writing or throwing her increasingly worried looks. Eventually, he'd give in and curl around her in bed. Sometimes Hawke would hold his hands over her ears like she could physically block out all of the invisible hurts that Grayson and Anders' magic hadn't been able to heal.

It was a toss-up whether she spent more time staring blankly at the walls and losing against the urge to cry or sleeping. She slept so deeply that not even nightmares could touch her, but woke even more tired than she when she'd fallen asleep. She felt so  _heavy_ , like if she didn't move for long enough she would sink right through the mattress and into the floor.

Everything tasted like ashes or metal in her mouth and it was all Varric could do to keep weight on her. After going so long without food it was a wonder more of it didn't stick to her ribs when she finally did manage to eat something. Norah made it her personal mission to fatten them both up especially since she'd been compensated well enough to keep the larders generously stocked. She used lard and butter and bacon fat in everything and served at least one sweet dish with every meal, which Hawke at least showed some interest in but she couldn't live on sweets alone.

Varric looked at her like his heart was breaking. He seemed just as lost as she was at times and barely holding it together enough to fool both of them. He'd taken to working in bed so she could tuck herself around him. He rarely left her side even though Hawke knew he must have had a million and one things to do. She'd made him a prisoner in his own room but Varric insisted he could do everything he needed to with parchment and a pen and a generous application of coin that didn't even begin to make a dent in their stash.

Hawke didn't try to convince him otherwise. She was currently sprawled naked across his lap pretending to be furniture while he worked. They hadn't had sex since he'd worn the knickers and even the thought of Varric's struggles with them didn't bring as much as a flutter of amusement from her.

Sooner or later something had to give.

Varric eventually lifted his pen from the parchment he'd been scribbling on against her back for at least an hour and removed the pot of ink balanced in the valley between Hawke's shoulder blades. He set the items aside and splayed his fingers out flat against her back, transferring warmth into skin that always felt cold no matter how many baths she took or blankets he piled on top of her.

Hawke's sleep schedule was entirely fucked but it must have been night because she heard Varric fighting off yawns. Nothing was out of the ordinary when they turned onto their sides and he snuggled up against her back, but when he curved an arm around her waist and settled a gentle hand against her belly something in Hawke snapped.

Something about the touch felt proprietary and invasive and she snarled, seeing in black and red. She flung his arm and the blankets away from her and retreated back across the bed. Her heartbeat was too fast, too loud in her ears. She tucked herself against the headboard and clutched at her hair as she stared at him…at his hand still outstretched and his face marred with hurt and confusion.

"Hawke? Sweetheart?" Varric lowered his hand and spoke in low, cautious tones like he was gently coaxing her awake from a nightmare.

But this was  _real_  and Hawke felt like she was slowly losing her mind.

She squeezed the sides of her head and gave herself a shake like she could rattle whatever had come loose back into place. She felt like something had been done to her, like she'd been tainted and something dark and vile was leeching into her veins. She knew she couldn't have contracted the blight because she'd already be dead, but she didn't know what was wrong with her or how to fix it. Varric was beyond patient with her but eventually he would want to move past the Deep Roads shit show and get on with his life. He couldn't do that with Hawke dragging him down every step of the way.

"I'm not getting better," she croaked and pressed her face against the knobby knees tucked up against her chest.

"What can I do to help?" Varric asked so gently that Hawke felt tears pricking her eyes.

They were still hot and sore from the last bout of crying she'd done. She gave a shuddering, weepy sigh and finally admitted what was so very wrong in what should have been a picture-perfect life they had created for themselves. They'd never have to worry about money ever again, didn't have to answer to anyone but themselves, and were surrounded with all the creature comforts they could ever want…with the exception of the one thing Hawke really needed.

Or two, rather:

"I miss  _them._ "


	11. Chapter 11

When Varric got out of bed and wordlessly started dressing, Hawke didn't ask where he was going. Of  _course_  he would take it upon himself to do whatever he perceived to be in her best interest. If that meant tracking down his girlfriend's something-more-than-friends and dragging them back to the Hanged Man kicking and screaming then there was no question that he would do it.

Hawke wanted so badly for Varric to be enough, for him to be all that she needed to be well again. They were partners, equals, and friends as well as lovers, but somewhere along the way she had fractured into four separate pieces and she was aching to be whole again. She didn't know what she needed from Anders or Fenris exactly. There was a very real possibility that the way Anders watched her or the way Fenris touched her was all in her head. It could also be the result of being in a high-stress, close-contact situation whose effects would fade with a bit of much-needed distance.

Anders and Fenris had certainly become more tactile and let down many of their guards, which was easy enough to mistake for trust or desire. Being involved in a four-way relationship was far too much for even her to handle, but at the very least Hawke wanted to prove to herself that she wasn't dreaming. She had a reoccurring fear that only she and Varric had actually escaped, that Anders and Fenris' bodies were mouldering down in the Deep Roads while she wallowed in comfort.

When Varric started tugging on his boots, Hawke shook herself out of her temporary paralysis and climbed out of bed as well.

"I'm coming," Hawke said as she started pulling open his dresser drawers to find something to wear even if she'd have to literally belt herself into whatever she found decent enough to wear out in public.

"Wait," Varric said.

Hawke turned on him with a snarl, a pair of too-large socks clutched in her fist. He held his hands up in a gesture meant to calm, but Hawke knew with absolute certainty that she would chew through the door if she had to stay one more hour cooped up in this room.

"Easy, sweetheart. Of course you can come. Frankly, I think we both could use some fresh air, but before we go I have something for you," Varric said.

"When did you have time to get me a present?" Hawke asked suspiciously.

Varric hummed and wiggled one hand back and forth in the air. "Eh, technically it's not from me? Have a seat. You'll see what I mean in a second."

Hawke looked at him and then to the socks in her hand before slowly setting them back in the drawer. She was curious enough to actually do as she was told and sat down bare-assed on the chair at his desk. Most of his mail had been arranged into manageable stacks, but he'd also been working practically non-stop since they'd gotten back. Busy work was probably just as much of an escape as sleep was for her. She hadn't paid attention to the heap of parcels on the floor next to the desk, but her eyebrows rose when Varric lifted the pile and set it down in front of her.

"For me? You shouldn't have."

"I didn't, even though I'd love to claim credit. Open this one first before it starts to go stale."

Varric removed a smaller square package from atop the pile and handed it over to her. Hawke wouldn't put it past him to have screened her mail, but it was strange that her mail was being forwarded here in the first place. As far as she was aware, only the Hanged Man's staff knew she was here. Varric would have paid them off well enough that even Corff, who lived for gossip, would keep his mouth shut. If her family and friends knew she was back then they would have broken down the door looking for her by now, surely. Hawke opened the box and made a noise of interest and confusion when she saw its contents.

"A cupcake? But my birthday's not until spring," Hawke said. She lifted the treat out of the box and got blue frosting all over her fingers. "Should I be inspecting this for poison?"

"No poison, I promise. But I can always test it out for you first…" Varric said, making a playful grab for the cupcake and nearly getting his fingers bitten off in the process.

Hawke hummed and sucked her fingers into her mouth as she regarded the decoration on the cake which featured a tiny yellow circle with lines coming out of it like spokes on a wagon wheel. A sun?

"Wait… Is this from  _Aveline_?" she said as a memory clicked in her head. She never did get to eat any of Bethany's birthday cake thanks to her own ineptitude and the black hole Snowflake had in place of an actual stomach. It was a bit unusual that Aveline would send Hawke her very own tiny cake now, of all times.

"Aveline," Varric confirmed, managing to swipe a bit of frosting and pop his finger into his mouth before Hawke could fight him for it.

She took a large bite just to spite him, smearing the frosting all over her mouth. The cake was a little dry and the sheer amount of sugar in the frosting alone nearly made her gag. She managed to chew and swallow before washing down the rest of her mouthful with the goblet of water Varric handed her. Hawke regarded the rest of the packages – four in all if Hawke counted the cupcake Aveline had sent her.

"Are these…'get well soon' gifts?" she asked, bewildered.

"Got it in one, beautiful. Sorry if I overstepped, but something told me you weren't exactly up for visitors yet," he said, fidgeting a little with the twine wrapped around one particularly lumpy parcel. Merrill's twine, if she wasn't mistaken.

"No," Hawke said slowly, setting aside the uneaten portion of her cupcake and brushing her hands against her thighs. "It's fine, I guess. I'm probably not the best company right now anyway."

She'd spent days hiding in Varric's room like a particularly depressed gremlin without even so much as poking her head out of the door. She didn't even know how much time had actually passed, but enough that word had gotten around to her friends. She was touched that the others cared enough to send her presents and leave her to recover in peace rather than smother her with well-meaning intentions – as Hawke was wont to do herself.

She was having a hard time swallowing - probably due to the cake sticking in the back of her throat – and held out her hand for the next package. Varric handed her Merrill's gift without further prompting. Hawke untied the twine and peeled away the scrap of brownish-green fabric Merrill had used in place of wrapping paper. Inside was a small clay pot that contained vibrant red paste. Hawke eventually figured out that it was supposed to be kaddis. Remembering her last misadventure with a knockoff version of the face paint she wore, Hawke sniffed the paint cautiously and, when her sinus passage didn't immediately threaten to close up, dabbed a bit on the inside of her forearm to make sure she didn't have a reaction.

Varric passed her Isabela's gift next. Hawke knew the identity of the sender immediately because Isabela had scribbled very graphic and anatomically correct penises ejaculating all over the brown paper. The sight of the Isabela's drawings and an entire short story of 'friend fiction' on the reverse side involving Varric and several of Isabela's toys drew the first smile out of Hawke in days.

"Oh, do you think it's a strap-on?" Hawke said, picking up the box and giving it an experimental shake. "I've always wanted one of those."

"A what?" Varric asked. Apparently, he hadn't taken a peek at this present before giving it to her. He eyed the box nervously when Hawke grinned at him with a truly evil expression.

"A strap-on. It's a harness that I can wear and attach a fake cock to so I can fuck that sweet ass of yours."

"Over my dead body!" Varric spluttered. He made a frantic grab for the box but Hawke anticipated him and stood up quickly, holding the box high overhead so he couldn't possibly reach unless he stood on the chair or desk.

"Ah ah! That's not very sporting of you, Varric," Hawke teased, dancing away when Varric actually did start to climb on the chair.

"Weren't the knickers bad enough?" he whined, making a half-hearted swipe for the box.

"Now, you're just giving me ideas. What do you say, honey? Want to be my pretty little wife? Welcome me home every day wearing nothing but a pair of knickers, ready for me to fuck you with my giant cock?"

"Uh, Hawke?" Varric said. He'd paused with his hand outstretched toward the box and was now staring at her, wide-eyed and a little stunned.

"…Kidding?" Hawke said unconvincingly, suddenly feeling a little off-kilter.

She cleared her throat and lowered the box back down. She hugged it against her chest as she tried to think of what Isabela might give to someone like Hawke who she believed to be in need of cheering up. The possibilities were endless and more than likely outlawed in several countries.

"I may as well open it before we both expire from the anticipation," she said.

"I'm fine with holding off a little longer. Or indefinitely."

Varric knelt on the seat of the chair and squeezed his hands against the backing as he watched Hawke remove the lid with an expression of pure trepidation. He was probably wondering whether or not he should get a head start and run for it while he had the chance.

"Huh. Well, I've seen bigger," Hawke mused.

"What? What is it?" Varric demanded, straining to see.

Hawke lifted out a long, elegantly curved dagger of Antivan design and gave it an experimental twirl. She noted how the leather grip molded to fit her hand and the excellent balance. Isabela did have the best taste in shafts of all kind.

Varric went limp with relief at the sight of the weapon but had to scramble to catch when Hawke tossed the dagger to him hilt-first. Varric handled the dagger just as well as any duelist and tested the sharpness on a piece of parchment. Hawke hoped the letter wasn't important because the blade sliced right through like water. She set the box containing the dagger's twin aside, touched by the unexpected gifts and the thoughtfulness of her friends.

"I wonder how Isabela knew I could use these?" Hawke mused knowing Varric was an even bigger gossip than Corff.

"Lucky guess?" Varric said guilelessly as he handed the dagger back without chucking it at her head. "And…I might have mentioned something. They're not enchanted like your last ones, though."

Hawke took the dagger back and started to reply, but then she caught a glimpse of her face in the polished metal and all but swallowed her tongue. Unable to stop herself, Hawke angled the dagger for closer inspection.

The reflection was of someone Hawke didn't even recognize. Her hair had the consistency of straw and fell into her eyes, which were a pale, ghostly blue compared to the much deeper bruising beneath her eyes. Her cheekbones were razor sharp, her nose reddened from all the crying she'd been doing lately, and her lips were thin and cracked with tiny stress lines at the corners. With her fingers curled around the dagger's hilt, seeing the ragged and broken remains of her fingernails - the ones still attached to her fingers, at any rate - was unavoidable.

"I think I need a makeover," Hawke said with a broken laugh at the wraith staring back at her with large, haunted eyes.

"That can be arranged," Varric said as he reached out and gently took the dagger from her trembling hand, setting it down on his desk. "But first you have one more gift. This one is courtesy of Norah. They're nothing fancy but I figure they're better than running around in my tunics. Not that I'm complaining, mind."

The last parcel contained a set of clothing along with socks and plain underthings roughly Hawke's size. The shirt and trousers were so new that the cotton and wool was still scratchy with harsh dyes that would bleed into her skin if she sweated. The clothing was thick and warm, though, and far nicer than anything she currently owned.

She'd gotten so used to not wearing anything that the itchy wool felt foreign and uncomfortable against her skin, but it at least brought some warmth into her chilled body. Hawke was cold more often than not even though Varric kept the fireplace and several braziers lit at all times. Varric seemed determined to chase away the darkness and doubled or tripled the number of candles scattered around his room. The brightness bothered Hawke but she didn't say anything, figuring light was a comfort to him like burying herself under piles of blankets was for her.

True to his word, Varric gave her the royal treatment after Hawke got dressed. Hawke sat on the floor so he could reach her and Varric gave her another trim with an actual pair of shears. Hawke trusted him to not make her look like a shorn lamb, but she still ran her fingers through her hair afterward to check for bald patches. When she was satisfied by the length, he combed oil into her hair before wrapping her head in a towel that he'd let warm on the hearth. He smoothed balm onto her chapped lips and worked more oil into her skin and cuticles before he took a file and a tiny pair of scissors to shape her nails as best he could, though he had to cut all of them down nearly to the quick.

Lastly, he applied the kaddis Merrill made once Hawke affirmed she didn't have any negative reaction to the paste. A sweep of his finger over the bridge of her nose felt incongruously good and made Hawke feel a little more like herself.

"Maybe now you won't be embarrassed to be seen with me in public," Hawke joked as she examined her reflection in the shaving mirror he'd handed her to inspect his work. She was still pale and far too thin, but at least tiny children wouldn't run screaming at the sight of her.

"I could never. You are breathtaking," Varric said without shame as he took the mirror back and helped her to her feet.

Hawke thanked the Maker the kaddis hid her blush and delivered a light punch to Varric's chest just to make him go  _oof_  once she was standing again _._  "Careful, dwarf, or I really will take your breath away."

"Can't be any worse than the time you sat on my face."

"That was all your idea. You wanted to 'don the beard' if I recall. It's a shame you shaved. I bet an actual beard would feel really interesting down there."

"Nuh uh, Hawke. You complained the last time I gave you beard burn. I'll be clean-shaven from now on," Varric argued, sporting several days' worth of stubble even as he said it.

"We'll see about that…" Hawke said as she strapped on her belt and sheaths, forgoing her armor that she never did get around to cleaning. She may as well burn them with the rest of her clothing. The dragon and darkspawn blood and whatever else had been caked on there had very likely ruined the leather permanently.

"What do you say we head up to Hightown first? We can check in on Broody and stop at the market while we're there," Varric said, reading her mind like always.

"Sounds good to me."

Hawke refused the coat Varric tried to pawn off on her since the one she'd borrowed indefinitely was probably still at Gamlen's and he was showing far more skin than her. Varric shoved a handful of gold and silver into two purses and handed her one. It was probably more than either of them could spend in a day, but Hawke was determined to try.

Downstairs, Hawke had to brace herself for the noise and odors that would only get worse outside. It must have been past dinnertime since several of the patrons had plates picked clean of food at their elbow and appeared deep into their cups. Hawke realized her estimate of the time was wildly off when they stepped outside into the full light of day. The sun threatened to blind her and she hissed, wishing for a hood or a cowl as she slammed her eyelids shut and covered her face with her hands. She must have been part-vampire after all, but at least the sun only warmed her skin instead of turning her to dust.

"Are you okay?" Varric said, touching her arm. He was squinting as well when she glanced through her fingers at him.

"I should have grabbed one of Isabela's hats. Shit."

The low-level headache Hawke never quite lost flared anew and throbbed behind her eye as she slowly adjusted to the light. She let Varric take one of her hands when she managed to pull them away from her face even though she didn't actually need a guide. Hawke was glad for the contact and kept close once they actually starting walking north toward Hightown. She kept her head down and avoided eye contact even though she knew that kind of posture screamed 'easy target' to those looking to make a quick bit of coin. She was surprised when they actually reached Hightown unaccosted, both more than a little winded from the climb. The sky didn't fall; strangers didn't call her out on the street and challenge her to a duel. No one even gave them a second glance other than to note the daggers strapped to her hips and Bianca secure in her harness on Varric's back.

As they approached Fenris' mansion, Hawke noted the overgrown hedges, the windows caked with dust, and the general, unwelcoming aura of the place.

They walked right in.

Like Varric's room, Fenris' mansion looked entirely untouched by time - if one didn't count the thick layers of dust, cobwebs, and the corpses that had moved past the bloated, decomposing stage and were looking more and more like dried jerky clinging to bone. Hawke was relieved that her resemblance to actual skeletons was less than she'd believed. She was so focused on not walking through someone's skull that she tripped over a pair of boots lying in the doorway.

"What in the name of Andraste's saggy tits—!" Hawke exclaimed and then said, "Huh," when she remembered Fenris didn't even own shoes.

She inspected the boots more closely. They were oddly familiar and tall enough to reach Hawke's knee, if not higher. Her suspicions were only confirmed as they found black armor mixed with white and blue cloth scattered across the floor as if they'd been hastily removed.

Hawke and Varric crept into the grand hall where evidence of their battle against shades and demons still remained. They lingered at the base of the stairs leading up to the master bedroom and Hawke pressed a finger to her lips as she strained to hear. Seconds later, she was rewarded with a very loud thump and a murmur of voices from upstairs that belonged, unmistakably, to Fenris and Isabela. She clapped a hand over her mouth to contain her laughter, but Varric only rolled his eyes as he took her arm and dragged her away.

"Something tells me Broody's not an exhibitionist like you, Hawke," Varric muttered under his breath when she made a token protest and dug her heels in.

She nearly gave them away when Varric hefted her over his shoulder, giving her a face full of Bianca and his ass as he bodily carried her out. He didn't set her down until they were back at the entryway. He dusted off his hands and looked smug even when she socked him in the shoulder for appearance's sake.

"Aveline owes me  _so_  much," Hawke said gleefully, still in a whisper. "I almost want to bring her a souvenir as proof."

"Don't even think about it. You don't know where these have been," Varric said as he cautiously toed aside the pair of smallclothes Hawke had been eyeballing. "It's too bad we don't have itching powder," he mused, rubbing his chin in a devious manner.

"Considering the state of the floors, we probably don't need any itching powder," Hawke said. "Though, I  _am_  tempted to dress up one of these corpses. That guy over there would look particularly fetching in Isabela's bodice."

"Dressing me up in ladies' underthings isn't bad enough? Now you have to defile these poor departed souls while you're at it? Your depravity knows no bounds, Hawke," Varric said, trying and failing to sound disapproving.

"It's not like I could get a pair of knickers on an arcane horror before it clawed my face off. I guess you'll have to do for now. What do you say? Up for some shopping?"

"Do I have a choice?"

"None at all."

Hawke tucked her hand in Varric's arm and led him out of the mansion. She felt better knowing Fenris, at least, was in good hands. Hawke had never been able to tease a smile out of Fenris or get him to flirt back the way Isabela did. They were an extremely unlikely, if not pretty, pair. Both of them were lone wolves and even if their relationship was purely physical Hawke was still glad they had each other.

They weren't too far from the market district, so the first place Hawke headed was toward the section the Feddics normally sold their wares and enchantments. She didn't care if Bartrand or any of his other hirelings had made it out of the Deep Roads, but Bodahn and Sandal were innocent parties and good people, besides. Sandal had already proven that he was able to handle whatever the Deep Roads threw his way, but Hawke still worried. Apparently, his luck had held because she spotted him and Bodahn in their usual area, both looking miraculously well.

"Messere!" Bodahn called out when Sandal said something to him and pointed in Hawke's direction.

Both of them waved enthusiastically when she and Varric approached. Hawke smiled wide enough to hurt her cheeks, matching the expressions on both Bodahn's and Sandal's faces. Hawke jogged up to them but stopped just short of throwing her arms around them and never letting go.

Sandal held out his hand to her with a very familiar stone and said, "Boom!"

"Boom," Hawke agreed, pocketing the stone and pulling them into a hug anyway.

"Oh, it is good to see you again, Messere! I haven't forgotten what you did for me and my boy down there in the Deep Roads. I will repay you one of these days, you have my word!" Bodahn said fervently.

"Hold onto that thought, Bodahn. I plan on getting back my mother's estate and could probably use some help around the place, if you're up to the task?"

"It would be my honor to serve you, Messere. Sandal, too."

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked with his usual eagerness.

"Enchantment," Hawke agreed, handing over her new daggers from Isabela.

"Enchantment!" Sandal exclaimed rapturously as he immediately got to work. Hawke watched him with a fond expression before she turned back to Bodahn.

"Do you wish to peruse my wares? I have the finest goods both common and rare at your disposal!" Bodahn said in his usual theatrical manner.

"Only if you promise to let me pay you this time," Hawke said.

Bodahn made a token protest, but in the end he accepted three sovereigns for the enchantments plus as many healing potions, grenades, and bolts for Bianca that he had in stock, which Hawke still considered a steal. She struggled over the decision to buy a new boot knife, but she'd been disarmed too many times in the past not to have a backup plan. Bodahn also loaned her a pair of serviceable daggers to use until her own were done being enchanted.

Hawke was more than serious about hiring both Sandal and Bodahn once she acquired the Amell estate. If it was anywhere as large as Fenris' mansion she'd need as much help as she could get repairing whatever the slavers and years of negligence had done to the place and maintaining the grounds. It would also be nice to have people other than her, Leandra, Bethany, and Snowflake rattling around the place. Gamlen could just stay in his hovel, however. She couldn't wait to be rid of her deplorable uncle sooner rather than later.

"We have a bit more shopping to do, but I'll swing by later to pick up the daggers. It was good to see you both again," Hawke said.

"You, too, Messere. Take care!"

"Where to next?" Varric asked as he filled his quiver with bolts. Bianca's enchantments had held so there was no need for upgrades on her yet.

"I'm in desperate need of new armor," Hawke said and then shot him a sly look. "Unless you were planning to run off and buy more knickers?"

Varric went  _red_  and Hawke positively cackled with delight as she teased him and poked his hot cheeks until he grabbed her hand and held it between them.

"Yeah, yeah," he sighed as he dragged her toward the pungent smell of Antivan leather. "I could use a new pair of gloves anyway."

It was almost like their shopping trip right before they went into the Deep Roads, but Hawke tried not to think about that. She didn't spend a fortune on armor since she only needed something to get by until she filled out to her usual weight. She decided on a shirt of chainmail that reached mid-thigh and split on either side for easy maneuverability and a leather cuirass that buckled across her chest. She also bought a pair of gauntlets and spiked shoulder armor that reminded her a little of Fenris' preferred outfit. She found a harness so she could strap her daggers to her back and boots that pinched her toes a bit, but they'd be broken in with time. Anything was better than the ones she was currently wearing, worn down nearly to the soles after two months of unending marching.

They visited a tailor next so Hawke would have clothes to change into whenever she stayed at Varric's, which seemed to be more often than not. She also bought underthings for herself - plain but serviceable, rather than the scraps of buttfloss that were all for show. Varric eyed her warily all the same but carried her purchases like the dutiful partner he was.

They were so caught up in teasing each other that Hawke stopped short when she realized the current direction they were going would lead them right past Solivitus' stall. Hawke was able to see Sol now that she was actually looking for him. Varric also came to stop, standing up on his toes and craning his neck until he finally saw what had Hawke so distracted. Hawke bit her lip and wavered over whether or not she needed to make a visit to the herbalist. She'd spent so much time trying not to think about it that she still didn't know whether or not she should get more birthbane or a potion that would remove the possibility of a potential pregnancy altogether.

"You don't have to decide right now," Varric said quietly, startling her all the same.

Hawke felt cold all over and her heart was like a jackrabbit in her chest. She wished so badly that Anders had been able to give her a definitive yes or no. How did other women stand not knowing? The benefit of having sex with other women was that she never had to worry about getting knocked up…not like she had to with a male partner. Magic ran in her family and the last thing she wanted was to be saddled with a mage baby in  _Kirkwall_ , the epicenter of all things anti-mage.

She knew all of this waiting and worrying could be for nothing, but it wasn't like contracting a disease from the Blooming Rose that one could cure with the right concoction of pills and potions. Or, rather, it could be "cured" in a way, but the idea that a child...that her and Varric's child should be denied the right to live because she was too afraid to deal with the consequences of her own actions was inconceivable. She had money now, and friends and family and a partner to help her through this latest transition. So many women didn't even have a fraction of that support and raised their children just fine. Her mother had managed somehow after Malcolm had died.

Hawke was at that age where she should be settling down with a husband and popping out babies for Leandra to dote upon. It wasn't like Hawke  _didn't_ want children… eventually, and on her own terms. Family meant everything to her, but she always figured she'd have more time. Hawke was already being changed by this, forcing herself to eat even when she wasn't hungry, drinking not nearly as much as she desperately wanted to, and spending more time in Varric's company without being consumed by sex...

Okay, so perhaps having a kid wouldn't be the worst thing to ever happen to her, but still.

Her life,  _their_  lives, would change forever. The responsibility alone... She saw what her mother and father had gone through keeping a roof over her and her siblings' heads and food in their bellies, all the while looking over their shoulders. They lived with the constant fear that templars would come and tear their family apart. What sort of person would Hawke be to knowingly bring a child with the potential for magic into the world? She could end the waiting and wondering once and for all. Maybe they would try again a few years from now when everything was a little more secure, when the Qunari weren't threatening war and the Circles weren't becoming increasingly hostile toward mages.

Solivitus caught her eye and lifted his hand in an undeniable beckoning motion before Hawke could commit to her decision to walk away. She felt like she had swallowed a particularly thorny rock. She plastered a smile onto her face, nonetheless, and walked stiffly toward Sol's stall with Varric following close enough to brush against her arm.

"Serah Hawke! And Master Tethras! What a pleasure it is to see you again. Your sister was kind enough to retrieve the ironbark I requested, though I heard those darkspawn gave her no small amount of trouble. Now, what can I do for you both today?"

" _Darkspawn_?" Hawke yelped. All thoughts of babies fled as she fisted the front of Sol's robes and dragged him forward as wild fear shot through her. "There were darkspawn? Here?"

"S-Serah, please!" Sol wheezed, turning purple as he attempted to pry Hawke's hands away. Hawke gave him a hard shake when his gaze darted to Varric, imploring the saner of the pair for help.

"You'd better answer the lady, Sol. This is her baby sister we're talking about," Varric shrugged, inspecting his new gloves without any hint of concern.

Hawke felt fiercely vindicated by his support. "Start talking. I won't ask again." She let Sol go and crossed her arms over her chest.

He coughed and smoothed down the front of his robes, looking more sheepish than offended.

"There's no need for manhandling, I assure you! I don't know much only that she mentioned the Dalish had banned their hunters from the clearing where ironbark is found because of an influx of darkspawn in that area. Thankfully, she was able to wipe out the nest and return without injury. I swear, my friend. If I'd known what she'd face acquiring ironbark for me I would have never asked."

"And you're sure Bethany was okay? And Aveline? Merrill?"

Isabela, she knew, was just fine, and currently confirming that Fenris had escaped the darkspawn relatively unharmed as well. Andraste's flaming knickers. After everything she'd done to keep Bethany out of the Deep Roads and her sister managed to find fucking darkspawn anyway.

"They all appeared to be fine the last I saw them, though I admit it's been a few weeks. I've seen more than a few cases of the blight. Terrible business, that. And incurable as far as I know, but fortunately neither your sister nor your friends exhibited any symptom, as I'm certain you'll be able to ascertain for yourself," he said pointedly.

If nothing else, the visit to Sol reminded Hawke that she'd been hiding behind Varric's skirts for long enough. She would find Anders, make certain he was alive and well, and then finally go face her family. Bethany would be  _furious_  if she knew Hawke had been back in Kirkwall all this time - assuming Varric hadn't told her family yet - but if either Leandra or Bethany had seen the state Hawke had been in neither of them would let her out of the house ever again.

"I hate to ask what after what your sister encountered, but if you should find yourself on the Wounded Coast or Sundermount, I am in desperate need of these few ingredients if you happen to come across them," Sol said, handing her a scrap of parchment. "I will pay you handsomely for each ingredient in addition to giving you a discount on any new potions I create."

"As long as we don't run into anymore darkspawn this shouldn't be a problem," Hawke said as she scanned the short list.

Three items weren't unreasonable, but she had no idea what a varterral was or why Sol needed its heart, exactly. A Harlot's Blush flower and Dalish tattoo ink would probably be easier to come by - if she felt so inclined. Hawke hadn't had the freedom to be picky about jobs before, but it was nice to know she wouldn't have to schlep around the Wounded Coast or Sundermount unless she wanted to. 

"Forgive my presumption, Serah, but I must say you appear rather unwell," Sol said, fingertips resting against the reddening splotch of skin at his throat as he observed her with a trained eye.

Hawke was suddenly reminded why she was there in the first place and bit the inside of her cheek hard enough to sting.

"…Both of you, actually," Sol said before she could convince herself that he could somehow sense or sniff out certain…conditions. "I can't imagine you managed a well-balanced diet where you went – oh, don't give me that look. It's no secret the elder Master Tethras took an expedition into the Deep Roads. I do wish you would have told me sooner as I would have sent you away with a few of these."

Sol handed them both vials containing a thick, viscous substance the color of sludge that didn't smell much better.

"What is this stuff?" Varric asked with a dubious look at his vial.

"A mixture of essential vitamins and nutrients in concentrated form. Completely harmless, I swear, though I can't say much for the taste."

The potion couldn't be any worse than nug or deep mushrooms, Hawke figured.

"Bottoms up," Varric said, clinking his vial against Hawke's before downing the contents in one go. He shuddered and scrunched up his face. " _Shit_. That'll put hair on your chest," he coughed before giving Hawke a watery smirk. "Your turn, Hawke."

"As sexy as your chest hair is, I think only one of us can pull that look off and it isn't me," Hawke said. Still, rather than be shown up by him, she raised the vial to her lips and slammed the potion back in a single, noxious swallow.

" _Ugh_ ," she said with feeling. "This tastes like something that died in a hurlock's asshole."

"Yes, well, I'm afraid my attempts to make the potion more palatable have been largely unsuccessful," Solivitus said regretfully as he took their empty vials and their coin. "Was there anything else I could assist either of you with today?"

"No. Definitely not," Hawke said. "Thanks, Sol. I think."

"Very well. Have a pleasant day, Serah, and please do give your sister my regards."

Hawke wondered if they'd get a refund if they threw the potion up. It was already taking everything she had not to scrape the taste buds off her tongue with one of her daggers. Luckily, Hawke had a waterskin on her, as did Varric, along with a pouch of dried fruit and jerky - not that any of it did more than mask the taste.

"I almost prefer Corff's specials. I think I need something stronger to get this taste out of my mouth," Hawke said.

"I'm pretty sure I smelled those pastries you like earlier," Varric suggested.

"How can you smell anything? I think I inhaled some of Sol's potion up my nose."

Hawke stuck her tongue out of her mouth like she could air it out or something. Regardless, she didn't argue when Varric took her to the little café that boasted "authentic" Orlesian drinks and high-end confectionaries and finger foods. The items were certainly priced that way, at any rate.

The dirty look the owner shot them when they entered the café was normally scathing enough to have Hawke avoiding the shop altogether, despite her love of the man's pastries. Varric had much thicker skin than her and approached the counter without appearing to notice that he was being regarded like something the owner had found on the bottom of his shoe.

"Could I get a half-dozen  _bichons au cannelle_  and a spiced wine?" Varric said with a grin and a flash of silver before the owner could scoff at his pronunciation. Hawke normally just said "those cinnamon things" and pointed. She couldn't even describe the look the owner gave her then but, frankly, she was surprised that she still had eyebrows.

Hawke didn't even make it out of the door before stuffing the first bitchin's, or whatever they were called, in her mouth. The first bite was heaven. Light, flaky crust crunched delightfully beneath her teeth while warm, buttery filling oozed into her mouth, coating her tongue with cinnamon and honey and all but neutralizing the lingering taste of Sol's potion. Hawke was fairly certain she could live off of these things for the rest of her life. Maker help her if the owner ever deigned to make a chocolate-filled version. Varric really would have to cart her around in a wheelbarrow when she was too big to move.

Hawke hoarded her treats jealously while Varric sipped on his wine. She was determined that no one would take them from her or make her give them away this time. Even Varric didn't try to filch one – relieved, probably, just to see her eat without having to be prodded first. Hawke finished off all six of the pastries and was glad Varric hadn't ordered a full dozen. She was already feeling a little queasy from all the sugar.

They dropped off their purchases in Varric's room for safekeeping before finally going to see Anders. Lowering herself down into the deep, dark pit of Darktown on a rickety old lift nearly threatened to unhinge Hawke. She had to resist the urge to cower in a fetal position with her arms thrown over her head. She'd never been afraid of the dark before and often found refuge in shadows, but now that she knew what kind of horrors lurked in true darkness it felt like every inch of her body was primed to flee. Rather than let that fear take root she bit her lip, grabbed a heavy link of chain in both hands while Varric worked the crank, and said nothing as they descended.

"Hawke!" Anders said, his face lighting with surprise and pleasure when she walked into his clinic with Varric following behind her. The joy lasted only an instant before an invisible shutter drew over him. He cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to busy himself tidying up bundles of bandages and potion supplies.

"I appreciate the visit, but I've been neglecting my patients. Did you need something?"

Anders' tone was curt, practically unfriendly compared to his earlier greeting. If Hawke didn't already know he was possessed, she would have suspected him of being possessed.

"I just wanted to see you," Hawke said, stung. "But if I'm bothering you..."

"Don't go!" Anders said loudly, startling her.

"O...kay?" Hawke said uncertainly. She wondered if she shouldn't back away toward the door slowly.

Anders didn't look very good. He was haggard and wan like his appetite wasn't any better than hers. Maybe she should have saved some of those pastries after all. He didn't look like he had slept much. Hawke wondered if he was avoiding the nightmares that sometimes jolted her and Varric awake in a cold sweat or if he'd been working himself to death trying to see to the backlog of patients that Hawke had seen loitering near the clinic. His coat with the terrible feathered pauldron was still as she remembered, though he had at least replaced his robes.

"Maker's breath. I'm sorry, Hawke. You caught me at a bad time, but that's no reason to take it out on you."

"Is everything okay? Anything I can help with?"

"Actually, there might be," Anders said. "Have you noticed how many Tranquil are in the Gallows courtyard lately? I've been watching and every day there are new Tranquil, selling their bloody wares. Good mages, too. People I know passed their Harrowing."

Hawke hadn't noticed, but then again she hadn't exactly been on the lookout for people with a sunburst branded into their forehead. "Doesn't Chantry law say that mages who pass their Harrowing can't be made Tranquil?"

"Exactly. The templars are using the Rite of Tranquility to silence those who speak against them. They're working on a deliberate plan to turn every mage in Kirkwall within the next three years."

"Whatever you think of templars, you can't imagine they're so heartless," Hawke said. She felt ill at the idea of Anders, Merrill, or Bethany being made Tranquil just for having the bad luck of being a mage in Kirkwall. Surely, Anders was exaggerating. Even Varric was jumping at shadows after what they'd been through.

"They're worse. There are groups in Kirkwall who help those fleeing the Circle. I've talked to people on the inside," Anders said.

"You've been busy, Blondie," Varric said. "It's only been six days since we got back."

Hawke wasn't certain whether he approved of Anders' extracurricular activities or not, but anything had to be better than hiding in the dark crying for a week. Anders had dived right back into his work while Hawke had simply rolled over and played dead.

"I can't sit by idly while so many are suffering under the cruel reign of templars," Anders said. Hawke could practically see the pedestal rising up from right beneath him. "The plan is the work of a templar named Ser Alrik. I've had a run in with him myself. He's the one who did the ritual on Karl. Nasty piece of work, likes to make mages beg."

"What happened between you and Ser Alrik?" Hawke asked.

"I've been involved with an...underground resistance. Mages, living free in Kirkwall, who help others escape. I can't tell you any more, for your sake and theirs. Suffice it to say, I've been in the Gallows. I've seen his work firsthand."

It sounded to Hawke that Anders' plan to help free mages had been in progress long before he'd ever returned with treasure from the Deep Roads. She didn't know if the funds helped further his cause or made things more dangerous for him working actively against the templars.

"What else do you know about Ser Alrik?" Hawke said, feeling herself sink into investigation mode.

"The Knight-Commander is at least sincere in her convictions. However misguided, she believes she's helping people. Ser Alrik's a sadist. Cold-blooded as a lizard. He likes to experiment on mages, find out what it takes to push them into the arms of demons."

"Don't templars have anything better to do than come up with new ways to torment mages?"

"No."

Anders glanced around at the people lingering in his clinic or near the doorway. He stepped in closer to Hawke and lowered his voice. Hawke ignored the way her heartbeat ratcheted up a notch.

"My friends in the mage underground know a way inside. A secret entrance under the walls of the Gallows. Come with me, tonight, please. Help me find the evidence of Ser Alrik's 'Tranquil Solution'."

"Hawke's in no condition to get ambushed by a bunch of templars for you again, Blondie," Varric said. He crossed his arms over his chest and shifted from foot to foot as if he'd like nothing more than to grab Hawke and bolt out of there as fast as they could.

"I'm fine," Hawke said, waving off his concern. "What do you mean 'Tranquil Solution'?"

"That's what he calls it. His idea of a 'peaceful' solution to the mage problem - to sunder the mind of every mage in the Free Marches! I'm told he's bringing his proposal to Val Royeaux, to the Divine herself. He would turn every mage in Thedas into a drooling simpleton under his command!"

"If this is real then it must be exposed," Hawke said with conviction. She could feel Varric practically radiating tension at her side, but Anders' whole demeanor softened and he looked relieved.

"I am honored by your trust. I'm ready to go when you are. Our entrance is concealed not far from here."

"I'm ready," Hawke said before Varric could convince her that this was a terrible idea. Of  _course_  it was a terrible idea. When were any of Hawke's ideas ever good ones?

"Do not tell anyone about this way into the Gallows," Anders said as she and Varric followed him down several passageways and rickety sets of stairs. "It's a secret that has saved the lives of hundreds of mages."

"You can trust me," Hawke said, a little hurt that she even had to say it.

Anders led them over to what at first glance appeared to be a wood and metal crate near a cluster of refugee tents. When they walked around the crate it revealed a trap door that led down into a deep, dark tunnel.

"This is it. This tunnel will take us into the Gallows."

"With any luck, we won't all fall down there and break our legs," Varric said, eyeing the drop dubiously.

Hawke couldn't even see the bottom. Her guts clenched at the idea of going down there. Anders didn't pay any mind to the people loitering nearby so Hawke ignored them as well, trying not to appear suspicious and terrified out of her mind. This new terror of dark, confined spaces was incredibly irritating but she couldn't let that fear get in the way of doing her job. Someone like Hawke who thrived on being useful, being needed, would never recover wasting away in bed while Varric played nursemaid and waited on her hand and foot. He had done his best, and Hawke appreciated his efforts, but she needed to stand on her own again.

"Let's go," Hawke said, determined not to prove Varric right about her not being ready yet.

"Ladies first," Varric insisted in a clear challenge.

"I'm not the one wearing a dress," Hawke said, meeting Varric head-on in this game of chicken they'd apparently started.

"How many times do I have to tell both of you these are robes?" Anders sighed.

"Have you started wearing smallclothes yet, Blondie?" Varric asked.

"No."

"Then you're definitely going first. No way am I going to risk looking up and being either blinded by your pasty white ass or scarred for life."

" _Fine_. I'm going. Follow or not," Anders said.

"Oh, I'm going," Hawke said, shouldering Varric out of the way and stepping down onto the first rung of the ladder. "I'm not going to miss this view for the world."

She'd already gone down too far to see Anders' reaction, but she had to keep from rolling her eyes and disorienting herself when she heard the clatter of Varric's boots following her down next.

"You had better not break wind, dwarf," Hawke warned.

Varric's laughter was muffled by the enclosed space but plenty audible to her.

* * *

Being down in the dark fighting for her life again convinced Hawke more and more that the brief window of freedom she'd experienced after finally escaping the Deep Roads had only been an elaborate fantasy. A heartbreaking dream. Even if they were navigating through tunnels and mineshafts instead of dwarven ruins, the rock walls and caverns were similar enough that she kept having flashbacks of being trapped down below.

Ironically, with Anders and Varric fighting at her side, Hawke was in her element. Carta and smugglers and mercenaries -  _people_  - were laughably easy and squishy targets compared to the stone monsters in the Deep Roads even if she only had plain, boring daggers currently at her disposal. They all bled the same; however, when spiders bigger than horses dropped down from overhead Hawke was more than happy to retreat and let Anders and Varric set them on fire.

She may or may not have shrieked first.

" _Spiders_ ," Hawke said with feeling once the last ones were on their backs twitching long, spindly appendages and smouldering.

"Lyrium smugglers built these tunnels to service the templars who crave the stuff," Anders said with clear disdain as he nudged the body of a smuggler over onto his back as well. Thankfully, that one didn't twitch.

"It looks like they could stand to clean house," Hawke said.

She was fairly certain she had webs in her hair and it was all she could do not to swat at her own face every few seconds. Varric was fortunate to be short enough to avoid walking face-first into spider webs, unlike her and Anders. There were also corpses older than the ones at Fenris' mansion lying about. Even though none of them had any need to loot bodies for pocket change, old habits died hard. Hawke found herself walking around with pouches full of coppers and a random assortment of junk that included a cracked tiger's eye stone and a pair of trousers that would fit a dwarf with worse fashion sense than Varric.

"Boiling in oil," Anders said suddenly like he was having an epiphany.

Hawke wondered if he was thinking of actually cooking and eating the spiders he'd roasted and looked at him askance.

"Too prosaic. Trapped in a cave with hungry bears, right at the spring thaw," Varric said, effortlessly following Anders' line of thought while Hawke was still wondering if Anders had picked up a new passenger in that head of his.

"That lets him off too easy. Dipped in molten gold and left as a statue in the Viscount's Keep," Anders countered.

"Ooh. That's poetic!"

"What are you two talking about?" Hawke cut in, unable to take the mystery any longer.

"What to do to Bartrand when I find him," Varric said.

"Any suggestions?" Anders asked.

Hawke's lips spread into a dark grin. "Do I ever."

Unfortunately, those suggestions would have to wait as they approached an area where voices could be clearly heard.

"No…please! I haven't done anything wrong," Hawke heard a young woman say. When she went to investigate, she saw a girl around Bethany's age dressed in Circle robes backed into a corner by several templars. The templar closest to the girl, tall and bald and armed to the teeth, spoke in slow, slimy tones.

"That's a lie. What do we do with mages who lie?"

"I just wanted to see my mum. No one ever told her where they were taking me."

Hawke felt a faint tremor swell up from the ground beneath her, but as soon as it started the shaking ceased. The templars and the girl didn't seem to notice, though Anders turned his head away and muttered something to himself.

"So, you admit your attempted escape? You know what happens to mage girls who don't toe the line around here, don't you?" the templar, who was very likely this Alrik that had Anders so worked up, said as he stepped closer.

The girl fell to her knees with a faint cry and implored him, "Please, no! Don't make me Tranquil! I'll do anything!"

"That's right. Once you're Tranquil, you'll do  _everything_  I ask."

"The Chantry frowns on templars who take personal advantage of their charges," Hawke interrupted, feeling icky all over at Alrik's lewd implications.

"Who's this?" Alrik demanded, turning to face the intruders.

"It's the Divine. Come all the way from Orlais to tell you personally what a jackass you are," Varric said sarcastically.

"YOU FIENDS WILL NEVER TOUCH A MAGE AGAIN!" Anders...Justice growled without warning, lighting up as he swung his staff in preparation for a spell.

"Ah, shit. You've done it now," Varric said. He gave Anders a healthy amount of space and unholstered Bianca from his back.

Alrik roared and ripped his sword free, raising it in a signal to charge. Hawke kicked at the knee of the templar closest to her, though his skirts prevented her from getting a clear shot and she had to jump back to avoid getting slammed by his shield. She swore when Anders' fireballs rained down from above without any regard for catching his allies in the storm. She was glad to see the mage girl had enough sense to get out of the way and Hawke waited for a lull before darting back into the fight. Alrik stayed far back, more than happy to let his minions do the bulk of the work for him. Varric, she was pleased to note, didn't let that stop him from using Alrik's shiny dome as target practice.

Hawke almost thought the battle was going to be too easy when the two templars that had been in Alrik's company went down beneath a hail of bolts, spells, and fancy knife work. She should have known better when she heard the clatter of metal boots and armor as reinforcements poured into the area and took up arms against Hawke and her companions.

"Shit," she said through clenched teeth as she tried to find an opening.

There wasn't much room to maneuver or use the boom rock without catching herself or one of the others in the blast. Most of the templars favored either swords or ranged bows that closed the gap between them even further. All of the templars were dressed in full helms and upper body armor that made a clean shot next to impossible. Their long skirts obscured their legs so it wasn't as easy to hamstring them, but at least they didn't move very fast either.

Hawke waited for an opportunity to dart in and numb wrists with blows from the hilt of her blade, stab thighs and gaps in the armor, as well as aim for unsportsmanlike crotch shots with her foot. Fortunately for her, most of these templars seemed to be male. She refused to stop moving and make herself an easy target, focusing on the archers on the ledges above while Anders and Varric dealt with Alrik and the templars on the ground.

The templars didn't stand a chance.

"THEY WILL DIE! I WILL HAVE EVERY LAST TEMPLAR FOR THESE ABUSES!" Anders roared when all of the templars, including Alrik, were finally dead after an arduous and bloody battle. Anders' face was covered in blood but that didn't hide the unearthly glow in his eyes or seeping through cracks in his skin.

"The templars are gone. You can stop glowing," Hawke said, approaching him cautiously.

She wasn't expecting him to turn toward the girl cowering on the ground and snarl, "EVERY ONE OF THEM WILL FEEL JUSTICE'S BURN."

"Get away from me, demon!" the girl cried.

"I AM NO DEMON!" Anders said, sounding incredibly demonic. "ARE YOU ONE OF THEM, THAT YOU WOULD CALL ME SUCH?"

"Anders! That girl is a mage. We rescued her from being made Tranquil," Hawke said, more than a little concerned that Anders, or Justice, might do something that he would regret.

"SHE IS THEIRS! I CAN FEEL THEIR HOLD ON HER."

"She's the reason you're fighting, Anders. Don't turn on her now."

"Please, Messere…" the girl implored him, begging for her life the same way she'd begged Alrik not to make her Tranquil.

Anders seemed to be untouched by reason. Hawke was too far away to stop him when he prepared to strike. Just when she thought he would unleash his attack, Anders erupted in an explosion of energy and staggered back. For a moment, Hawke thought the girl had cast a spell of her own but she only smelled ozone rather than charred flesh. She was intimately familiar with both smells.

"Maker, no," Anders said.  _Anders_ , not Justice. He fell to his knees as the last of Justice's light left his eyes. The girl up and ran like her life depended on it, which it nearly had. "I almost… If you weren't here…"

Anders staggered to his feet with a look on his face like a cornered animal. "I-I need to get out of here."

He ran in the opposite direction the girl had gone like his robes had caught fire. Varric caught Hawke's arm and shook his head before she could go after him.

"Give him some space, sweetheart. The last thing either of us wants is to get between him and his warped sense of Justice right now."

"We can't just leave him like that," Hawke protested, but even she could admit this was beyond her scope of expertise. She was only glad Fenris hadn't been there to see Anders lose control over his spirit like that. They'd only just begun to tolerate each other. Sort of.

Looting the templars' corpses turned up a missive from Alrik himself addressed to Divine Justinia. It stated that even though the Divine and Meredith herself had rejected his proposal to make all mages Tranquil, he implored Justinia to reconsider his solution as the best way to ensure mages obeyed the laws of men and the Maker.

Make them more pliant to the abuses templars like Alrik would subject them to, was what he'd really meant.

"That sick fuck," Varric said when Hawke handed him the letter. He gave it back after skimming the contents and shook his head. "So Blondie wasn't crazy after all. Or, well. Crazy for believing in a conspiracy against mages."

"There is that at least. Come on. Let's get out of here. This place gives me the heebies," Hawke said.

"Lead the way."

The girl they had saved from Alrik and Justice found her and Varric as they were walking back. She looked relatively unharmed, if not rattled.

"You, you saved my life, Messere. What was that thing?"

"He's no demon. Just a deeply troubled man," Hawke said, trying not to emphasize the 'deeply' part too much. She was no basket of kittens herself.

"Can I…go home now?"

"Find your parents, but don't stay there. You must leave Kirkwall."

"I know. There's nowhere in the city where Ser Alrik's men won't find me. Thank you, Messere. Andraste herself must have put you in that room."

"Maybe I should stop pissing Andraste off then," Hawke muttered quietly enough that only Varric could hear. He huffed out a laugh and they both watched the girl go before finding their way back up to Darktown.

"What do you think? Did we give Anders enough of a head start?" Hawke asked once she and Varric had climbed back up the ladder and were on solid ground again. "I really don't want to just leave him like that."

"Your call, Hawke," Varric said unhelpfully.

Hawke's call was to stop by the clinic to check on Anders and make sure he hadn't landed himself in more trouble meanwhile. She half-expected him not to be there. There was no one waiting outside the clinic and the lanterns had been extinguished, but she found him at his work table muttering angrily to himself as he sorted supplies and junk into separate piles. Hawke and her family had been on the run enough times that she knew exactly what a hasty getaway looked like.

"Trash. Trash. Keep. Trash. Trash… Won't be needing that anymore…"

"Anders…" Hawke said, considering and discarding potential conversation openers just like he was with his inventory. "Don't make any hasty decisions while you're this upset. I'm here if you want to talk about it."

Anders let bits of dried leaves tumble through his fingers and turned toward her with an anguished, defeated expression. "You were the only thing that kept me from murdering an innocent girl! It's all gone wrong. Justice and I. We're just a monster, same as any abomination."

"You were out of control, but even then you heard what I was saying. You knew, somewhere deep inside, that you had to stop."

"You have too much faith in me. Without you, I'd never have known who was there until it was too late. How can I fight for the freedom of mages, when I am the example of the worst that freedom brings?"

"Mages  _are_  dangerous," Hawke said, not bothering to sugarcoat the matter. "That's why this has been so hard. Make yourself the proof that they can control their powers."

"I don't know how. How can I even trust myself to heal anymore? What if that…creature of vengeance turns on a patient? Will he…will I…resist? Or will I know his fury?"

"Maybe the Chantry can mediate this."

Hawke hated to even suggest it, but she was at a loss. If the Chantry knew Anders was losing his control over a spirit possessing him, they wouldn't hesitate to turn him over to their templars. A tiny, traitorous part of Hawke wondered if that might not be for the best.

"Did you…find anything on Ser Alrik? Or was the 'Tranquil Solution' just another of my delusions?" Anders asked, thankfully derailing her current train of thought.

"It exists, but it was Ser Alrik's plan, no one else's."

"Let me see that!" Anders said as he reached for the missive Hawke pulled from her pocket and read over the letter avidly. "The Divine…rejected the idea.  _Meredith_  rejected the idea! This was…not what I expected. Perhaps I should try talking to the grand cleric. Maybe she's more reasonable than I thought. Thank you. I will think on what you said."

Hawke wasn't ready to leave Anders quite yet even though she'd clearly used up her usefulness to him and his mind was already elsewhere. He'd worried her with his loss of control, but he managed to pull himself out of the hold Justice… Vengeance?... had on him and come back to himself. He'd come back because of  _her._

"You know… You're not the only one who's been losing their mind lately," Hawke said, staring down at the toe of her boot as it dug into the packed dirt floor of Anders' clinic. She glanced up and flashed him a wry grin. "Us crazies have to stick together."

"I highly doubt you've lost control of a spirit and nearly killed an innocent girl, Hawke," Anders said.

"Oh, cheer up, Blondie. You're making me cry just looking at you," Varric said. "You've both made mistakes. It happens. No one's perfect… Except for me, of course."

"Keep telling yourself that, dwarf," Hawke scoffed, but she was heartened by the shadow of a smile that crossed Anders' face for a brief moment. She felt her nerves start to kick in, but before she could back out or second-guess herself, she blurted, "Come home with us."

"What?" Anders said. "Hawke, I—"

"It doesn't…I won't… I mean. At least for dinner?" Hawke said, flushing as she tripped over her tongue. "Please?"

"Thank you for the invitation, but I really have to see to my patients," Anders said stiffly.

Hawke could sense she was losing him by the way he retreated into himself and took an actual step back. She didn't want to pressure Anders into anything, but she couldn't help hoping… On second thought, maybe she had read this entire thing wrong after all. She was about to make her own mortified retreat, but Varric's hand on her back kept her in place.

"There's no one around right now," Varric said, gesturing to the empty clinic. "You won't be doing anyone any favors if you collapse from hunger. Besides, I think we're having lamb tonight," he wheedled with an effortless grin that few people could resist. Hawke certainly couldn't.

The clinic was unusually devoid of patients or refugees, but that probably had more to do with Anders' foreboding demeanor than a lack of people who were plagued with injury or illness. Anders had obviously been working himself to the bone ever since they returned to Kirkwall, and there wasn't any spare flesh on him to begin with. Hawke held out her hand in a silent plea and felt her heart stutter-stop when Anders slid his hand into hers. He gave a slight nod, lips quirking upward as Hawke released a breath she hadn't known she'd been holding.

"I'm starving!" Hawke exclaimed as she took Varric's hand in her other one and all but dragged them out of the clinic before either of them could change their minds. She was actually hungry despite the fact all three of them had been crawling around in the dank spaces beneath Darktown and didn't smell the least bit appetizing.

It was a good thing Hawke was pretty much over her cannibalistic streak. Probably.

* * *

Hawke didn't know how Norah or Edwina could have predicted when they'd be getting back unless Varric was telegraphing messages to them through a series of runners and secret codes, but dinner was already waiting for them upstairs. Hawke wasn't ready to mingle amongst the regulars quite yet but Varric's room felt warmer and more open with one extra person. Perhaps Varric should have allowed visitors after all, but from what she'd gathered both Fenris and Anders had been preoccupied with their own business.

Varric was in his element. He was happy to entertain as he filled their goblets and plates, telling stories they hadn't heard before in his attempts to keep their spirits up in the Deep Roads.

Anders barely waited for everyone to be served before he dug into his food, shoveling fried lamb chops, mashed tubers, rice pilaf, and asparagus drowning in butter into his mouth. Even Varric stopped talking long enough to eat. Hawke didn't eat with nearly as much gusto but she made a sizeable dent in her own ogre-sized portions. She even had to loosen a notch on her belt to make room for dessert. There was a butter rum cake drowning in sweet cream with caramelized sugar drizzled on top that they had to eat with spoons.

They would all gain back their previous weight and then some in no time eating like this every night. It was odd how food hadn't seemed nearly as appetizing to Hawke until she was covered in guts and spider ichor. She sat back with a cup of hot wine after she polished off two slices of cake and watched Varric and Anders try to out-eat each other like a food version of a drinking contest. She could already tell Varric was going to lose, and badly, since Anders was on his third serving and showed no signs of slowing down. Wardens  _were_  notorious for their appetites, after all.

For food and for other things, if rumor was to be believed.

Hawke found that she kept touching Anders in small ways like he'd disappear into a puff of smoke if something wasn't anchoring him down at all times. A brush of her knuckles against the back of his hand, bumping his shoulder with her own, resting her knee against his beneath the table, reaching out to tuck a stray lock of hair behind his ear…

Anders dropped his fork and caught her hand before she could complete that last action. He seemed startled when he realized the appendage in his possession was attached to Hawke.

"Um," he said and dropped her hand very quickly.

He didn't start eating again and looked everywhere except at her. Hawke couldn't recall if he'd ever been in Varric's room before, but she saw him taking in his surroundings with keen interest. Varric had heavy stone furniture that sat low to the ground and he'd decorated his room with an overall color scheme of deep reds and gold - from his luxurious bedding to the tapestries hanging on the wall to the thick rug on the floor.

Anders' eyes skipped over the large bed with its rumpled sheets and fixed somewhere behind her. Hawke twisted around to look over her shoulder and saw that the bathtub had caught his attention. She made a show of sniffing her arm before pulling a face.

"Yikes. I think we could all use a bath. You're more than welcome to borrow ours if you'd like to clean up? Er. That is, if you don't mind waiting until we order some hot water to be brought up?"

Shit. She'd forgotten the tub had been drained and scrubbed after their last bath. She assumed Varric wouldn't mind her whoring out his amenities to vagrant apostates and scratched the side of her nose as she gave Anders a sheepish smile. By all accounts, she expected him to refuse. He'd been unusually reticent ever since Hawke and Varric had shown up unannounced in his clinic. Hawke was more and more convinced that anything that he might have felt toward her had all been in her head, but he surprised her when he nodded.

"You know. I think I might. That is… If you don't mind?" Anders, at least, had the courtesy to actually ask Varric first, unlike Hawke.

"Knock yourself out. I have some paperwork that I want to get wrapped up anyway. Try not to pass out and drown on me, would you? I don't think Corff's insured for that."

"I'll keep a look out," Hawke volunteered. Perhaps too readily because Varric and Anders both gave her a  _look_.

"I can manage to scrub my own back, Hawke," Anders said just short of rolling his eyes as they got up at the same time.

They found themselves suddenly standing nose to nose until Anders took a hasty step back, incidentally placing his chair between them. He seemed jumpy and uncomfortable and Hawke couldn't help thinking she was the reason. She didn't know if that was a product of what had happened with Alrik and the mage girl, or the lingering remains of what they'd been through in the Deep Roads. Darktown had to be a constant reminder of the claustrophobic passages and caverns that had nearly become their tomb. She was trying to be understanding, but this reunion wasn't going at all like she'd hoped for. She hadn't expected them to run crying into each other's arms at first sight, but he was acting like she was diseased or about to throw herself at him and start humping his leg, for fuck's sake.

"I'm going to help Norah bring some bathwater up," Hawke said tightly. She crossed her arms over her chest and turned away, trying and failing to hide her hurt.

"Wait," Anders said. His fingers brushed her arm and Hawke felt a flare of hope before he continued, "There's no need. I can summon my own water."

"You're shitting me," Hawke said, arms falling to her sides. "Why the fuck didn't you do that in the Deep Roads then?"

"Believe me, I tried. I could only form dry ice in my attacks. There has to be moisture for me to actually summon out of the air and the Deep Roads are pretty much as arid as it gets without being in a desert climate. I don't know how to sense groundwater, which I assume the dwarves must have used to live down there centuries ago - if it didn't all dry up. I'm sorry, Hawke."

"No…  _I'm_  sorry. I know you did everything you could down there," Hawke said and immediately changed the subject before she could look even more like an asshole. "You coming to see this new trick of his?" she said to Varric.

"I go anywhere near the bathtub right now it's a toss up on whether I try and drown myself or these damned letters the Guild keeps sending me. They've been up my ass ever since Bartrand disappeared."

He sounded so honestly frustrated that Hawke was tempted to grab the stack of letters that he'd brought over to the table and have Anders light them on fire instead.

"I'm not healing any paper cuts!" Anders warned before Hawke followed him away from the table and toward the bath.

"We all know the second he bitches about getting blood all over his precious letters you'll come running," Hawke said.

"I can still hear you," Varric said as he reached for his pen and the first letter.

"That was the point," Hawke said, sharing a grin with Anders as they stopped at the foot of the tub. "All right. Show me what you can do."

"You might want to stand back," Anders said.

Hawke took him at his word and stood out of range of any stray bolts of fire or lightning or whatever. Anders lifted his hands overhead and traced intricate patterns in the air that left glittering sparkles of frost in their wake. He cast a spell at the tub almost too quick to catch and filled the tub with a solid block of ice.

Hawke shivered just looking at it and noticed that the air and her skin really did feel noticeably drier. "I'm going to have to give you a two out of ten, Anders. Your balls will probably freeze to the ice and then where will that leave you? I'm not getting you unstuck."

"I'm not done yet, Hawke," Anders said as he retrieved the staff he had left propped up next to the door. "I don't know any actual water spells so ice and fire it is."

"If you blow up my tub, paper cuts will be the least of your problems, Blondie," Varric warned.

"Don't worry. I have done this before."

"Those layers of grime could have fooled me."

"Stop distracting the man or he really will blow us all up," Hawke scolded.

Anders didn't use anything as elaborate as a fireball to melt the ice. Instead, he inscribed a flame rune onto the smooth, glassy surface. They watched as the rune sizzled and sunk into the ice with a hiss of steam, cutting a perfect impression into the ice. The rune must have settled at the bottom of the tub instead of disappearing because quicker than Hawke had thought possible the bathtub was full to the brim with steaming hot water.

Hawke really had been intending to leave Anders to bathe in relative privacy, but the sight of the steaming bath water drew a sound of plaintive longing from her. She was filthy from crawling around beneath Darktown and had been subsiding on mostly room temperature dunks. The few times Varric had managed to coax her out of bed the bath water had been sitting long enough to grow cold and they didn't have a mage conveniently on hand to warm it back up again.

"Can I join you?" Hawke asked before she could think better of it. She wasn't even looking at Anders, staring instead at the wisps of steam that curled beckoning tendrils toward her as she fingered a buckle on her bloodied leathers. Varric cleared his throat and Hawke started, realizing that Anders hadn't said anything for several minutes.

"I mean," she said hastily, "if you don't mind doing that trick again later, I can take one after you?"

"Subtle, Hawke," she thought she heard Varric mutter, but when she shot him a look his head was down and he was scribbling furiously on a piece of parchment.

Anders was trying painfully for casual when he shrugged and said, "It's not like we haven't bathed together before, right?" but Hawke caught his blush when he turned away and started undoing the clasps to his coat.

"Right…" Hawke said. She was sorry that she'd asked, but the idea of a hot bath after cavorting around in the dirt and muck was too irresistible whether she had a bathing partner or not.

Anders was even more closed-off once they were actually in the bath, both of them naked with water up to their chins when they slouched. He avoided looking at her and kept to the opposite end of the tub with his knees tucked up against his birdlike chest even though there was more than enough room for them to stretch out - if neither of them minded a bit of overlap. Clearly, someone minded. Not to be deterred, Hawke straightened her legs so that her toes brushed the outside of Anders' hip. She pretended not to notice the startled look he gave her by closing her eyes and tipping her head back against the edge of the tub.

Blocks of stone stacked into a basin-like shape were even less comfortable than they appeared, but she didn't have to fake her sigh of pleasure as heat seeped into her skin and relaxed her tense muscles. She was probably at risk of falling asleep and drowning, but the slosh of water just below her collarbone jostled her from her doze. She cracked open an eye to catch Anders staring at the line of her throat with a hungry expression very similar to the one he'd given the lamb chops right before he'd devoured them.

The look vanished the instant she shifted, sitting up and working a kink out of her neck. Anders dunked his head to get his hair wet and grabbed the cake of soap and a flannel that Hawke had set next to the tub along with a couple human-sized towels. She'd had to go searching for them so she wouldn't have to decide between covering her tits or her ass once she got out of the bath. Hawke suspected Varric had the towels altered to be shorter on purpose just for that reason.

Anders briskly lathered up, sparing no illusion that he was eager to bathe and get out as quickly as possible, probably while cursing himself for giving into Hawke's request to take a bath together. Hawke figured she had nothing left to lose at that point…other than her dignity or Anders' friendship, but even that didn't stop her from brushing her toe against him again. And then again, until she was rhythmically stroking the soft skin over his hip.

"Hawke…" he said, a quiet warning as his long fingers wrapped around her ankle and stilled the motions of her foot.

Hawke looked back at him and lifted her chin as she wiggled her toes disobediently, not even feigning innocence. Anders already looked better for having eaten and bathed. He could use a shave and his cheeks were still gaunt, but there was a flush of color to his natural pallor that might have more to do with her than the heat of the bath. Hawke could glance down and gauge that answer for herself, but she kept her eyes fixed above his stubbled chin. She propped her elbows on the edge of the tub behind her and let her fingertips dangle in the water. The position lifted her chest, exposing her dusky pink nipples to the air that still held a hint of Anders' ice spell despite the steam that wafted from the bath.

"If you'd like, I could wash your hair?" Hawke said, resting the side of her foot against his thigh, but not moving otherwise.

Like her, his eyes didn't move below her chin, but he took a deep, shuddering breath and let go of her ankle one finger at a time like an invisible force had to peel them away. It wasn't impossible that was actually the case. She'd seen Anders use telekinesis before – or rather, saw the effects of him using telekinesis. A good indicator was when one of their enemies clutched at their head and screamed while Anders squinted at them really hard.

"All right," Anders said so quietly that Hawke nearly missed it.

"Come here and turn your back to me," Hawke said just as softly, trying not to break the fragile spell that kept him from running away.

She figured positioning themselves this way would be less stressful than simply climbing into his lap. She didn't actually expect him to go through with it because of how reclusive he'd been all day, but it was her turn to take a nervous breath when he knee-walked toward her and did as directed.

Hawke guided him with fleeting touches of her hands and knees, trying not to linger more than necessary for fear of scaring him off or losing herself to the desire to touch him and never stop until she'd cataloged every single scar on display to her. From this angle, she could actually see the tattoo Anders had mentioned a while ago. The ink on his shoulder was blown out and looked more like a dark, blobby birthmark that may or may not have been a cat at one point. The shape of it reminded her of lying in a field of sweet clover with Carver and Bethany tucked under each arm while she pointed out shapes to them in the clouds.

A tension she hadn't realized she was carrying eased when Anders sighed and melted back against her chest. Hawke had always been the protector in her family ever since the twins were born. That hadn't changed after Carver died or when she'd gotten to Kirkwall and slowly started building her found family. She wasn't used to being the one needing to be taken care of but this… making sure Anders was fed and clean and content - if not exactly happy - helped give her back some confidence that she'd left behind in the Deep Roads.

Anders' hair was already wet so she removed his hair tie and reached for the bottle of liquid soap that had another stupidly foreign name like the pastries, except Antivan.  _Sapo castilliensis_ , or something like that. Either way, it was slippery and sudsy and smelled like a combination of sandalwood and something sharp like wood smoke. It was a very Varric-like smell. Hawke bit her lip to stifle a whimper as the scent tantalized her with memories of things Varric had used that soap for that didn't involve bathing at all.

Anders' hair was too filthy for a slow and sensual head massage, but he didn't complain when Hawke dug her nails into his scalp and scrubbed vigorously. She rinsed and repeated until she couldn't feel grit gathering beneath her short nails any longer, though she took her time on the last round. She massaged his temples, behind his ears, and the base of his skull until his entire body went limp and he was all but purring in her hands.

After rinsing him off the final time, Hawke guided him down to rest his head against her shoulder as she wrapped her arms loosely around his waist, breathing in the clean scent of Anders and soap as she leaned her cheek against his. Despite how thin he was, Hawke didn't think she could move him even if she wanted to. His body was dead weight pinning her against the edge of the tub, but his was a welcome weight that made her feel secure rather than crushed.

When the water started to cool off Anders didn't even open his eyes before spelling another glyph to warm it right back up again. If Hawke had been the one with magic she probably would have boiled them alive. She could have been content to stay there and never move again, except something convinced her to open her eyes and peer downward if only to confirm a nagging suspicion…a hope?

She traced the narrow planes of Anders chest with her eyes down to the waterline, which had become slightly murky but not enough to obscure the sight of his very hard and slightly curved cock lying nestled against his belly. Hawke stared at his cock like she was willing it to jump up and start dancing while her hands carefully slid from his waist to his hips and back up to his ribs slow enough that she barely caused any ripples in the water.

A quick check confirmed Anders' eyes were still closed, although she had to check again to make sure she wasn't molesting him in his sleep. She wasn't. Anders exhaled a soft moan against her throat when her touches became bolder, sliding over his stomach and chest and shoulders in an unhurried loop.

Hawke didn't actually know how to give a massage, so when her hands returned to his chest she squeezed experimentally at his pectorals like she was testing fruit for ripeness or grabbing Isabela's tits. Her palms grazed over the stiff, rubbery peaks of his nipples before moving outward to knead his biceps, triceps, and forearms all the way down until she reached his hands. His fingers were long and dexterous and calloused, and she spent several minutes gently stretching and massaging and wiggling each finger before kneading his palms and the balls of his thumb.

His nails could use a good buffing, but that was Varric's forte, not hers. She kept up the hand massage until her fingers threatened to cramp. Hawke was tempted to drop his hands and grab his cock to rub down instead, which had only grown harder and redder the more she touched him. But he was so relaxed, so trusting of her at his back with all of his guards down that she wrapped her arms around his torso instead so she wouldn't give into temptation. She closed her eyes and settled back, listening to the scratch of Varric's nib on parchment and Anders' quiet breaths.

She could feel his heartbeat through his back where it was flush against her chest and she felt her own heart pound in response. She tightened her arms around him, hugged her knees against his sides, and buried her face against the side of his neck. She wrapped him in a full body hug while she waited for the waves of throbbing desire and contentment that coursed through her to flow down the drain like dirty bathwater.

He settled a hand against her arm just below the curve of her elbow and gave a light squeeze. Not a rebuke or a precursor to him pushing her away, but rather like he was holding her to him even tighter. He tipped his head back, exposing the pale curve of his throat that was exactly the perfect shape for Hawke's lips. She rested them there like he had that night in the Warden's camp after she'd nearly died, feeling his heartbeat strong and fast against her lips like he must have felt hers.

Anders' hand kneaded her forearm. It was the only part of him that moved when Hawke's lips drifted up the side of his neck to the sharp jut of his jawbone. She felt the hinge of his jaw work as his mouth fell open just slightly on a breath. Hawke let her mind go blank as she followed that breath to its source. The angle wasn't ideal, but Hawke reached up to tilt Anders' chin toward her so she could kiss his cheek, his chin, the corner of his lips until they started to move against hers. The kiss was gradual at first, a barely there pressure against her lips, until he twisted his head to fit their mouths together before turning over in her arms altogether.

Heat pulsed between Hawke's legs like he'd placed a glyph deep within the recesses of her sex and she parted her knees to welcome him between them. He settled his weight against her, crowding her up against the side of the tub as he kissed her like he was fucking her. His tongue speared past her lips and pried her open while his cock thrust in tiny motions against her belly. He tasted like dinner and sticky-sweet lyrium. Not so recovered, then, if he still needed to supplement his mana with potions.

Hawke couldn't help but think of all of those refugees and impoverished people haunting Darktown, depending on Anders to fix everything even though there was only one of him and so many of them. He couldn't be expected to care for them all, yet he was on the verge of working himself to death attempting to do just that. Like he owed them anything, or like he was trying to find redemption through his own suffering. She was angry suddenly,  _furious,_  that there wasn't more being done to help. If not for Anders, these people would have no one at all, no experienced healer to bring babies into this world with his wonderful, gentle hands, no one to ease the afflictions of the elderly, no one to mend together families who would have otherwise been ravaged by loss like hers had been.

The Chantry spewed the Maker's blessing and verses from the Chant of Light without actually putting action to words. They sat high and pious in their lavish shrine to the Maker while turning a blind eye to the poor and suffering at their door. The Guard was hardly any better. Aveline was doing the best she could, but she was one outsider fighting against corruption and negligence that had been festering for years while guards continued to accept bribes or ignored muggings and murders alike.

And the templars… Hawke had never expected to be a spokesperson for mage rights, but how could she not be upset when she'd seen firsthand how good, honest people like her father and sister and Karl and now the man in her arms had all been hunted or abused by templars in some way? Meredith was someone in a position of power who truly thought she was doing the right thing by bringing mages to heel beneath her iron fist, but instead she was sticking her finger into a leak that was building more and more pressure behind it each day. Sooner or later the dam would burst, catching those who were guilty and innocent alike in the crossfire.

Hawke wasn't driven enough to do anything more than protect those closest to her. Varric insisted on making up ridiculous stories about her, convinced she had the potential for greatness. Personally, she suspected him of trying to mold her into his perfect heroine for his next serials, but she knew herself well enough to know that she'd only ever be the comic relief or made into an example of what  _not_  to do.

Hawke didn't want to think about any of that right now, not when Anders was kissing her like he was going to suck her soul out through her mouth. Her hips hitched upward, seeking by instinct to complete the connection that the kiss started. The head of Anders' cock brushed over her clit and Hawke jolted, clinging to him as she ground herself desperately against that hard length. The sound she made must have snapped Anders back to his senses. The next thing Hawke knew she was coming up for air, coughing and sputtering – not from the kiss, but because Anders had accidentally dunked her. Hawke was pretty sure it had been an accident.

Anders ripped himself away from her, sloshing water onto the floor as he clung to the opposite side of the tub like he was going to vault out of it any second. Hawke caught her breath and flailed upright like she'd been doused in cold water. She glared at Anders in confusion, but he wasn't even looking at her. He was looking right at Varric with the guiltiest expression she had ever seen, and that was including when he'd nearly killed the girl they had saved from Alrik. The view from the table to the bathtub was entirely unobstructed so there was no way Varric hadn't seen or heard exactly what they'd been getting up to right in front of him.

As usual, his ability to read minds was unnerving.

"Should I leave you two to play alone?" Varric asked in a voice laced with amusement when they were both eyeballing him uncertainly.

He didn't even bother to glance up as he licked a fingertip and discarded a finished letter into his outgoing pile before beginning the next. Somewhere along the way he had donned a pair of spectacles with gold wire frames that made him look unbearably handsome. Hawke would tease him mercilessly about his age before ever admitting that.

She looked back at Anders in a silent question, but the poor man looked like Varric had just threatened to cut off his balls and feed them to him. They hadn't discussed her pursuing either Anders or Fenris, but she assumed if the terms of their relationship had changed significantly Varric would be the first to let her know and draft out copies in triplicate to all parties involved. She wouldn't hold him accountable for anything he said in the Deep Roads when they were both fresh off near-death experiences and delirious with hunger and exhaustion long before then.

Hawke needed to be needed…and to take care of others the way Varric did for her. Even when everything and everyone was falling apart, Varric was the rock that kept her grounded. Hawke wouldn't have gotten very far without him after he'd come along and offered her the opportunity of a lifetime. She'd still be a too-mouthy merc trying to make a name for herself or else ended up in an alley with a knife in her back. They were still recovering from that 'opportunity of a lifetime', but Hawke couldn't get better by being scared and idle. Slogging through the underground with Anders and Varric at her side again had coaxed the first sparks of life within Hawke in far too long.

She didn't want to lose that momentum even if action took a form other than fighting. Varric was her partner, her love, and pretty much the only thing that made this - her and Anders making out in a bathtub - even remotely acceptable was knowing Varric would still be there no matter what.

"Stay?" Hawke said to Varric but caught and held Anders' eye when he shot a startled glance at her.

She could see Anders' unspoken question as well as his hesitation and longing and fear. She didn't know which of those emotions sleeping with him would alleviate and which would make worse. But he hadn't actually rebuffed her advances and Anders was no stranger to Hawke's penchant for public displays. He also didn't deny Varric's insinuation that they'd get up to nefarious deeds if left alone together.

"Stay," Hawke said with absolute certainty as Anders' hand reached out to tentatively curl around her own.


	12. Chapter 12

Despite having Varric's blessing, more or less, Anders still hesitated to kiss her, to touch her, to do anything more than stare down at the water between them and hold her hand. Hawke wouldn't rush him, but her body was still singing from the brief contact they'd shared and she didn't have the self-control to hold out forever. Hawke wondered if some of his reticence had to do with Justice. He already didn't allow Anders to drink because he saw no point in inebriation. She wasn't sure how Anders would explain something like this to the spirit. Friends finding solace in each other, perhaps? Or maybe there was more at play than even Hawke realized.

"What does Justice have to say about all of this?" she ventured quietly, hoping she wouldn't regret asking.

"Justice...doesn't approve of my obsession with you. He believes you are a distraction," Anders said, confirming Hawke's suspicion that Justice found their situation weird as shit. Even she would have a hard time explaining her and Varric's arrangement to anyone else, especially when she didn't quite understand it herself.

"It's one of the few things in which he and I disagree," Anders said before Hawke could convince herself that he was getting ready to let her down gently. "Are you sure you want me here? You deserve a normal life, not to be tied down to a fugitive with no future. You have something precious, something real with Varric that should be preserved. The last thing I want is to come between that."

Hawke valiantly resisted the urge to tell Anders what, exactly, he could come between if only to prove she was capable of a serious, adult conversation.

"Hawke's a big girl, Blondie," Varric said. "I'm not going to get in the way of something she wants…even if that something happens to be you. No offense. I personally don't get the appeal."

Varric didn't bother holding back his smirk. Unlike Hawke, he wasn't above yanking Anders' chain. She was relieved to see the teasing actually seemed to ease some of the tension Anders was carrying in his shoulders.

"Besides, if you leave now I may kill you," Hawke added, only half-joking.

"I can't say I'd blame you," Anders said with a small smile that faded nearly as quickly as it appeared. "When I was in the Circle, love was only a game. It gave the templars too much power if there was something you couldn't stand to lose."

"Whatever this is, it isn't a game," Hawke said soberly. She reached out to comb tendrils of damp hair out of Anders' face and left her hand cupped against his cheek. "I care about you, Anders."

"I...care about you too, Hawke."

Hawke thought she might have imagined the slight hesitation in Anders' words like he was keeping himself from saying more. Either way, Anders closed his eyes and leaned into the touch like it was the only thing in the world that mattered…or like she was the only thing that existed. Hawke felt her heart stumble and miss a beat. She was overwhelmed at the thought that somehow, impossibly, two men she cared so much for could feel so strongly about her when she had done nothing to earn this kind of devotion.

When Anders pulled back and looked at her again he didn't seem entirely convinced that this was something they…or she…really wanted to do. Hawke didn't know what else to say to convince him.

"You need some tips, Blondie?" Varric said when the silence went on for too long. He finally looked up at them with a raised eyebrow. Anders breathed out something close to a laugh and shook his head.

"It  _has_  been a while, but I think I still remember how this works."

"Then I'll leave you to it. Shout if you run into trouble."

Anders didn't have that far away look he sometimes had when consulting Justice, so maybe it was only anxiety that kept him from bridging that gap between them. Hawke could understand the feeling only too well.

"I'm sure there will be plenty of shouting," Hawke purred with a grin that hopefully concealed her own nerves. "Should we have a safe word?"

"Knickerweasels?" Anders suggested.

"It's supposed to be something you wouldn't say in the heat of the moment. We could go with 'Templars are coming!' or 'Watch out! Meredith!' I'm sure that'll kill any boners."

"On second thought, 'stop' works for me," Anders said.

"Don't tell me you never played the naughty mage and templar with the heart of gold?" Varric said.

For all Hawke knew those letters to the Guild were only a cover-up and he was actually taking notes for his next story. If that was the case, then she hoped they gave him something good to write about.

"With a templar? No," Anders said darkly.

"I can't lie and say I haven't thought about the idea of you naked under those robes. You can tell us. It's actually for the easy access, right?" she said.

Hawke knew they were edging into dangerous territory and sought to pull Anders away from the precipice. To her relief, he ducked his head with a faint smile and squeezed her hand.

"Can't get anything past you," he said.

The banter was gentle and familiar and one of the things she had missed the most. Anders had a wickedly snarky streak when Justice and all the mage-templar business didn't get in the way. She was glad that she hadn't been reading the connection between them wrong.

Hawke let Anders draw her toward him and wound her arms around his neck. He kissed her tentatively at first until the lack of an immediate backlash spurred him into taking more aggressive action. The kiss became quickly heated. Arousal that had been temporarily banked flared anew as Hawke slung her leg over his to straddle his lap as they licked and sucked hungrily at each other's lips.

Anders' hands found anchor holds on her ass while her own gripped his hair to angle their mouths together in a perfect seal. She was intensely aware of his hard length trapped between their bellies and couldn't help rocking against him. She felt the water lap against her as the motions created small waves in the bath. Anders' wet hands slid up her back and splayed flat over her shoulder blades, holding her so close that there was no room for even air to pass between their bodies.

He was so hard that Hawke throbbed in sympathy. All she had to do was lift up and sink back at just the right angle and they would be fucking. She moaned, wanting Anders' cock inside her so badly that she could hardly think of anything else. She knew with absolute certainty that a tongue and fingers were just not going to be enough. She hadn't been ready for Varric to fuck her last time and felt...unfaithful? hypocritical? whorish? for wanting Anders the way she did.

Anders groaned when Hawke forced herself to stop moving. They were both shaking and Hawke was very nearly reaching the point of not caring and taking him anyway. She ripped her mouth away from Anders' and barely had the presence of mind to gasp out, "Varric? Anything you want to say here?"

She was trying desperately to keep from thrusting down on Anders. Her thighs and calves threatened to cramp from holding her body completely still while her vaginal walls squeezed tighter and tighter, aching for him to fill her as deeply as possible.

"Blondie, you want to be a baby daddy? No? Then be sure to pull out. Hawke…" Varric's teasing tone became suffused with all the warmth and love that she surely didn't deserve, "anything else is up to you, sweetheart."

Hawke nearly sobbed and didn't even bother to prepare herself as she moved over Anders. She wasn't expecting the sting of entry as the head of Anders cock breached her. She dug her fingers into his shoulders with a shocked gasp that melted into a moan as she sunk down on him until she bottomed out. Any uncomfortable sensations were instantly translated into pleasure. She didn't wait to adjust before lifting up and slamming back down on him.

"Hawke," Anders gasped, clutching her so forcefully that she almost didn't have room to move.

She clamped down around him making it next to impossible for her to adjust to his size, which was not insubstantial by any means. Every shift was accompanied by a twinge of pain that Hawke soon began to crave with just as much eagerness as the pleasure that washed through her when Anders eased up enough to let her move.

He sucked a trail of kisses down her neck until he latched onto the curve of her shoulder with his teeth. He applied just enough force to make Hawke cry out and rock harder against him, splashing water everywhere. She imagined Corff would have something to say about them flooding Varric's suite, but there was a drain installed next to the tub for the water such purposes.

Hawke lost herself to the thrill of fucking Anders for all she was worth, months of flirting and possible repression coming to an explosive head. She closed her eyes and let nothing else except the pivotal junction where their bodies connected direct her thoughts. Anders held her just a little too hard but his hands and lips on her body were worshipful. All of it was exactly what Hawke needed and she moaned as wantonly as any whore.

"Mmm...ah..." Hawke's head fell back with a groan of pleasure as she felt a sharp bite to her left nipple while fingers pinched and tugged at her right one. Hawke had to crack open her eyes and glance down to remember who she was fucking. "Ah...Anders!"

She didn't know if Varric was watching them or if he found this display as arousing as he had when she and Isabela were together. She hoped he was and that he did. It felt so fucking good riding Anders, especially at the current angle that ground her clit against his pubic bone on each thrust. Her movements became tighter and faster as she whined and clutched at him, already feeling herself approaching orgasm without any other stimulation needed.

Knowing that Anders was here and, in this moment,  _hers_ , was enough.

"Nnh... Tell me when you're close," Hawke panted against Anders' ear before she caught sight of the small gold hoop in his lobe and nibbled on that for a bit.

"Keep going," Anders rasped out, gripping her waist and lifting his hips up to meet her.

Hawke was pretty sure she felt herself falling in love a little bit.

Her knees were becoming raw from scraping against the bottom of the tub, but she'd become used to having chronically scabby knees when she was younger and still growing into her coltish limbs. Now, her knees got their wear and tear from activities much more adventurous than tripping over her own feet. She was positive Isabela would have something vulgar - and entirely accurate - to say about that.

Hawke would have endured so much more discomfort for the promise of several more hours of this, but she was barely holding on as it was. Anders' skin was wet and slippery and she had to dig her fingers into his shoulders to find the leverage to take him as deep as physically possible. She had no control over the noises she was making but only half of her oxygen intake was spared for actual breaths.

Hawke buried her face against his throat and ravaged the skin there with her teeth and lips. She didn't realize how close she was until she nearly took a chunk out of him with the force of her orgasm slamming through her. The thought of marking him so visibly felt almost as good as coming did. Half the water had spilled out of the tub by the time Hawke managed to work herself through the aftershocks, shuddering and licking the deep imprint of her teeth on his neck with a possessive, contented hum. He was still hard inside her so Hawke didn't stop moving entirely even if she was a little too sensitive to go again right away.

"How would you feel about moving this to the bed?" Hawke murmured, nuzzling the spot behind his ear that made him shiver. Her voice sounded low and hoarse like he'd been fucking her throat instead. She found herself craving his cock in her mouth and feeling him spend down her throat with an intensity that nearly overwhelmed her.

Rather than answer, Anders slid his hands down to grip her thighs and stood up in a single, fluid motion as water streamed down their bodies. Hawke startled and clung to him with her arms and legs. The movement unseated her from his cock, but he didn't seem to notice as he kissed her feverishly, stealing her breath away. He let her legs slide down until she was standing on her own, but he kept his arms locked around her waist to support her suddenly shaky knees.

Hawke actually had to stretch up onto the balls of her feet to maintain the connection between their lips. The unusual experience of kissing someone her own size made her laugh. As a result, Anders ended up kissing her teeth which caused them both to grin and clack their teeth together.

Anders took her hand and escorted her out of the tub like it was a chariot. They toweled off briskly but became distracted when the desire to consume each other's faces again became too overwhelming to resist. Hawke took his bottom lip into her mouth and sucked gently before worrying tiny hurts into the soft, slick flesh with her teeth. The towels fell to the floor, forgotten. Hawke shivered as they pressed together from tongues to toes. Her toes wanted to curl at the sensation of Anders' damp skin against hers without the water acting as a buffer. His clean hair was soft and fluffy and she raked her fingers through it again and again until it crackled with static discharge.

"Mm. Show me the electricity thing?" Hawke asked, suddenly reminded of Anders' rumored talents. "I've never done it with a mage before."

She was curious about what Anders was capable of and trusted him even if they'd technically only known each other a few short months. However, that time had been so concentrated, every single moment spent together or at least within sight of each other that Hawke doubted she knew her own sister so well. Hawke had rarely forged a connection so quickly or deeply before and she felt like she had known him for years. Fenris, on the other hand, remained an enigma save for the way he hated Danarius, hated mages, tolerated Hawke and their friends, and enjoyed wine and ripping out people's hearts. Hawke didn't know if he would have agreed to come even if she had found him alone in his mansion.

She and Anders had seen each other at their worst and most vulnerable, yet here they were. Hopefully, his opinion of her would only go up from there.

"Maker, yes," he breathed, sounding very nearly reverent.

His cock was attempting to drill its way inside of her through her bellybutton but he didn't seem in any rush to hurry things along. He kissed and touched her all over and their hollow bird bones knocked painfully together without a scrap of padding between them. Hawke cherished each bruise until Anders kissed away the marks he'd made with a faint tingle of magic.

"Don't," Hawke begged when Anders healed the imprint of his teeth against her collarbone. "Let me feel you."

Anders eyes when he looked at her were dark and unfathomable. He gave no warning when he surged up to kiss her, crashing his mouth roughly against hers. Hawke moaned approvingly and used his hair as reins to keep his mouth against hers while she took her fill of him. She tasted frost on her tongue and when he pulled back their breath misted out between them. Hawke's eyes widened and she let out an incredulous laugh.

"You didn't tell me you had an ice thing, too!"

"How terribly remiss of me," Anders said in-between kisses down her chin and throat, marking a path that reminded her of Fenris' lyrium markings.

Hawke's nipples puckered in anticipation and hardened like diamonds when Anders reached her chest. He traced his tongue around one nipple, laving it wet before breathing frost over the peaked nub. Hawke shivered and gripped his shoulders when he repeated the action on the other side and flicked the frozen bit of skin with his tongue - a strangely thrilling sensation.

When he returned to the first nipple, Hawke expected him to repeat this process, but instead his mouth was hot like a furnace when he closed his lips around her. Hawke felt like she was melting, like her nipple would actually slide off her chest and they'd have to scour the floor to find it again. Anders' little trick had her sex melting as well. She was so wet that she was almost certain the puddle forming beneath her had nothing to do with the bath.

He left an alternating trail of hot and cold kisses up her body when she tugged on his hair. His lips found hers again and burned her mouth, scalding her until she matched the sweltering temperature of his tongue and they melted together. She couldn't wait to feel his tongue in other places. Hawke almost wouldn't believe they'd had sex already were it not for the ache between her legs. She wanted to take her time with him, commit every moan, every shiver to memory.

She rested her hands against his chest when she broke their kiss so he wouldn't chase her down. She didn't have any magic of her own but he still shivered under her touch when she mouthed her way down his body, lingering over his nipples until they were as hard and red as his cock.

He gasped when she sunk to her knees in front of him, heedless of the stone tiles pressing into her sore joints. She chewed on the thin skin over the jut of his hipbone and nuzzled the coarse hairs between his legs as his cock leaked against her cheek. He was longer but thinner than Varric in all proportions and still tasted like her when Hawke took him into her mouth. He cried out and his knees nearly buckled, but Hawke held onto him by the backs of his thighs and didn't protest when he grabbed fistfuls of her hair for balance. She didn't try to surprise or impress him with any neat tricks, instead providing a warm, wet suction as she bobbed her head back and forth in shallow motions.

By the sounds he was making, one would think Hawke was a desire demon whose sole purpose was to tempt Anders over to the dark side. In a way, she probably was.

Hawke watched him through her lashes and he stared back at her like he couldn't believe she was real. His grip on her eased until he was cradling the back of her head. He followed the motions she was making without forcing her to move faster or take him deeper. Hawke lost track of how long she was down there but Anders' continuous moans were incentive to keep going, so she did. She finally pulled off with a wet pop when her jaw began to ache and he sagged, open-mouthed and breathless.

"Andraste's knickerweasels," he said, staring at her mouth.

"Knickerweasels? You really want me to stop?" Hawke said. She affected a pout and brushed her swollen bottom lip against the head of Anders' cock when it bobbed in her face.

"You're right. That was a terrible safe word. Forget everything I said," he groaned.

"Forgotten," Hawke promised. "But…you're going to have to make it up to me."

Anders looked both intrigued and disturbed.

"How so?"

"Hmm," Hawke hummed and pretended to consider as she stuck a finger into her mouth and sucked on it like she had his cock.

His eyes went dark and hungry and she could feel the flex of his thigh beneath her hand still curled around the back of his leg. She slowly slid her hand up, loving the crinkle of hair against her palm until it gave way to the smooth skin over his ass. She gave him a firm squeeze and his cock jumped in response, wet from her saliva and his own slick.

"Hawke," he rasped out when she gave him another squeeze, fingers moving closer to the place Varric had dubbed "no man's land."

Anders spread his legs at her gentle nudging and moaned a protest when she let his ass go. She lifted his cock and balls out of the way and rubbed her wet finger against the strip of skin behind his scrotum. Anders locked his knees to keep from falling and shifted his hips forward for more. Apparently, it was some men's land after all. She kissed the crease of his thigh and massaged him with both hands, teasing closer and closer to his hole until his heel slipped and he nearly overbalanced. Hawke quickly let him go before she did any lasting damage and Anders sighed at the loss.

"Bed?" Hawke suggested.

"Bed," Anders agreed fervently.

Hawke kissed the tip of his cock and he helped her up without needing to ask. She took a few hobbling steps toward the bed and worked out the kinks in her knees. She was only twenty-four but it was times like this she felt ancient. She'd have to insist Varric shoot her if she started to complain about her back or the trouble with youths these days.

Hawke arranged the numerous pillows on Varric's bed against the headboard so Anders could sit up while Hawke sprawled out on her stomach between his legs. She curled her hand around the base of his cock and resumed sucking him once they were both comfortable. She took her time, unhurried with one orgasm already under her belt. Hawke could probably do this for hours, keeping him on the edge while she alternated stroking him with her hand, sucking kisses up the prominent vein on the underside of his shaft, and taking him far enough into her mouth that he brushed the back of her throat before beginning the cycle anew.

Anders had to be close to physical pain by that point, but he didn't complain. He carded his fingers through her hair and gently traced her lashes and the corners of her mouth with his thumbs.

Hawke moaned softly as she sucked and slurped on him. Her mouth flooded with so much saliva that she only had to swipe her finger in the mess of drool before she returned to playing with the tight pucker behind his balls. She didn't try and force her way inside but she took the way he sunk against the cushions and made an effort to relax as permission to dip the very tip of her finger in and out of him. She was missing the nail on her index finger but it wasn't like she had talons like the Arishok to begin with. Varric had filed down the rest of her nails so she didn't run the risk of scratching him when she pressed a second finger against him and massaged in a circular motion.

It must have been too much because Anders reached down and pulled Hawke's hand away from his backside. She made a sound of disappointment until he murmured a spell under his breath and Hawke's fingers were suddenly slippery with grease.

"So  _that's_  what that spell's really for," Hawke exclaimed as she shoved up onto her elbows and rubbed her fingers together thoughtfully. "I thought you said it makes darkspawn more flammable, but really you were just lubing them up first. I had no idea you were so kinky, Anders!"

"I can tell you this with utmost confidence: The mages who learned this particular spell in the Circle were often the most popular. You can bet I was at the top of my class," Anders said with no small amount of pride.

"Let's see if I can get top marks," Hawke said with a lascivious waggle of her eyebrows.

"She's doing that eyebrow thing, isn't she?" Varric said from behind them.

"Yes. It's like two caterpillars attempting to take flight off her face," Anders confirmed, smiling with hopeless affection.

Hawke slapped his thigh with her slick fingers and Varric snorted, "Nice."

"Caterpillars turn into butterflies, I'll have you know," Hawke said primly as she wrapped her hand around the base of Anders' cock and squeezed.

He arched his hips with a gratifying gasp. "As you say, Butterfly."

In no time at all, Hawke had him pinned like an insect to a corkboard with only her mouth and fingers. Anders was wonderfully responsive, shaking and moaning when Hawke took him deep into her throat and thrust her fingers against his prostate relentlessly.

She fucked him with a strength she didn't know she still had. She powered through her shoulders and torso until he had to grip the headboard to keep from giving himself a concussion. He dug his heels into the mattress and came with a throaty groan just when Hawke's arm started to tire. She swallowed around him, filling her already full belly with his spend even if any nutritional benefits were wasted on her at this point. She held him loosely in her mouth when the last pulses trickled into faint twitches and she left her fingers buried to the hilt. She let him recover at his own pace without pulling away too soon or over-stimulating him. He released the headboard with a sigh and nodded when he was done.

"Okay?" Hawke asked as she carefully pulled out of him and wiped her fingers off on the sheets.

The glazed cast over Anders' eyes and the flush in his cheeks was answer enough.

"You are a wonder, Hawke," Anders breathed when he found his voice again. He reached out to brush a smear of moisture from her chin and gave her a smile that was just shy of enamored. "Thank you. Yes, that was…better than I could have ever imagined."

"Imagined that quite a bit, did you?"

"I have lain awake every night aching for you...and hating myself because I know your heart belongs to another. I'm still terrified that I'll wake up."

"There's room in this bed for all three of us," Hawke said softly.

"Unless you snore," Varric stipulated like he didn't spend just as much time sharing a bedroll with Anders in the Deep Roads as she had.

"I…appreciate that. More than you know."

It wasn't a yes, exactly, but he didn't give the impression that he regretted what had transpired between them. If anything, he seemed interested in more - if his still-hard cock was any indication.

"Wow. Wardens, huh," Hawke said, tracing her finger along the length of his shaft.

"One of the few benefits. If you're not too tired, we could…"

"Electricity thing?" Hawke asked breathlessly.

"Electricity thing," Anders laughed.

Hawke lunged upward and kissed him. They ended up in a tangle of limbs and sheets in a reversal of their previous positions by the time they came up for air. Hawke spread her legs and cradled his hips between her knees as Anders carefully rested his weight on top of her. She hadn't realized how used to dwarf proportions she was until the underside of his cock snugged up right against her folds, nestling itself within the damp curls. All he would have to do was adjust his angle slightly and he'd slide right inside without any effort or resistance at all.

The urge to throw away caution and work her hips up that extra inch or two was almost overwhelming. She was easily distracted and didn't know if she had the willpower to let him go. Anders seemed to sense her wavering resolve and removed temptation without leaving her bereft. He kissed his way back down her body, tracing the dips and sharp-edged valleys. He flicked his tongue into her navel and made her clit pulse when a gentle shock followed immediately after, giving Hawke a preview of what was to come.

"Ah!" she cried out, jackknifing up to curl around his back.

"You might want to hold onto something," Anders warned. Hawke immediately threaded her fingers in his hair but he shook his head with a rueful smile and brushed her hands away. "I'm not ready to go bald yet. Maybe something a little more...sturdy?"

The headboard was always an option - as was demonstrated when Anders had so recently made use of it - but for some reason when she heard the word 'sturdy' she immediately thought 'dwarf'.

Hawke looked up and only then became aware of Varric watching them. He'd hardly said a word and didn't seem inclined to interrupt nor go back to his letters, which had to be boring in comparison. He was partially twisted around in his chair and had his elbow propped on the table while his jaw rested on his fist. He wasn't smiling, exactly, but there was a softness in his expression that smoothed out the harsher lines the Deep Roads had carved into his face.

He was happy, she realized with a second shock that had nothing to do with Anders' magic. Seeing her happy made  _him_  happy.

Hawke couldn't even fathom that level of selflessness especially when his lover was in another man's arms. This wasn't at all like the time with Isabela. Hawke didn't feel like she was on display or that this was a no-strings-attached kind of fuck. If anything, she and Anders were making love in a way.

The thought, oddly enough, didn't make her want to run in the opposite direction or punch a dragon in the throat to assert her dominance over any vulnerable feelings she may have been harboring. She wanted to protect Anders, if only from his own self-neglect. He could be fierce and tender and had saved their lives more times than she could count. But he was no different with the vagrants that littered the doorstep of his clinic, taking care of everyone else except for himself.

Hawke curled a hand against Anders' cheek and something in her heart came loose a little when he closed his eyes and nuzzled her palm like a cat. She reached out and beckoned to Varric with the other hand. She didn't look away from Anders' blissful expression when a broad, callous hand squeezed hers gently and she felt Varric brush a kiss against her temple.

Anders froze suddenly when he opened his eyes and saw Varric standing next to the bed. Anders hunched over Hawke's hips very similar to the way Snowflake did when caught with one of Gamlen's shoes that he knew he shouldn't have. Like he knew it was going to be snatched away and resented the fact he was too well-trained to bite. Hawke worried that she had made a mistake. Maybe Anders wasn't as comfortable with having an active audience or sharing as she'd assumed.

Then his shoulders relaxed and he gave Varric a reassured smile.

Hawke understood then; Varric was a sneaky, silent motherfucker when he moved and they were all understandably jumpy after spending so much time constantly on high-alert.

"Is…this okay?" Hawke asked, perhaps more than a little belatedly.

Varric had given her permission to fuck whomever she wanted, but he didn't necessarily mean inviting them into his bed, his space, or her heart for the long term. If Anders was willing to sleep with her then he had to know Varric would still be a part of the equation. She wasn't a…a  _timeshare_ , or a port they could dock their dicks into whenever was most convenient. The very real possibility there was a baby on the way was also a factor. While Varric might be content to share her now there was no telling if or how that would change in the future. The last thing she wanted was to hurt either of them when she loved them both so much. Conversation and explanations were not Hawke's strong suit, but thankfully Varric came to her rescue.

"Feel free to tell me to fuck off, but it looks like you could use a hand here, Blondie," he said with a quirk of his eyebrow and lips.

"Are you calling me a handful?" Hawke said. She glared at him and petted Anders' hair at the same time when he didn't pull away.

"Eat a few more of those pastries you like and we'll see," Varric said with an ungentle poke to her ribs.

She caught his finger and pretended to bend it back with a threat of breaking it.

"First, I'm too heavy to sit on your face without smothering you, now there's not enough of me to go around. Make up your mind, dwarf, before you give a girl a complex."

"You will always be more than enough," Varric soothed in that effortless way he had, knocking down all of her walls before they could even form. He leaned down with his finger still caught in her grip and pressed a warm kiss to her forehead. And, before Anders could start to look uncomfortable, he reached out to snag the back of his neck and smacked a playful kiss against the side of Anders' head.

"You too, Blondie."

"Thanks  _so_  much," Anders said sarcastically, clearly holding back a laugh. "I don't mind if you stay, but I hope you're not wearing that to bed."

"Since when did you become the fashion guard?" Varric asked. He held his blood and dirt-stained coat open and looked down at himself. His tunic and trousers weren't in much better condition.

Hawke knew he preferred to get his sheets dirty the old-fashioned way but he still made a production out of fussing. He removed his boots and clothing, folding each item and laying them down on his writing desk. He glared at the half-eaten cupcake from Aveline that Hawke had abandoned and ate the remainder in one bite. Whoops.

"Keep the glasses," Hawke said when Varric went to take his spectacles off.

His eyebrows shot up but he complied. He pushed the frames back up the bridge of his nose with one finger and gave her a look that meant they had a discussion in their near future. Preferably, one without words.

Varric climbed into bed behind Hawke once she scooted down to give him room. She settled herself against his chest and folded her arms over his when he wrapped them around her torso and nuzzled her neck. She tilted her head to give him better access and he obliged, scratching her skin with the stubble that he'd been threatening to shave before soothing the redness with his tongue and lips.

Anders hadn't shaved the entire time they'd been in the Deep Roads and it didn't appear as if he had after they'd gotten back. The growth on his face didn't quite make the cut as an actual beard, but the hair was bristly enough to tickle as he slowly lowered his head back down and grazed his lips over her belly. She loved the play of textures – callused hands, rough stubble, and soft lips all over her body.

"Ready?" he asked when his mouth hovered over her sex.

Hawke's thighs were already quivering with anticipation. She squeezed Varric's forearms so tight that his skin puckered and went white where her fingers dug into muscle and bone.

"Ready," Hawke said with a thin, reedy exhale, not knowing what to expect.

"Hold her," was the only warning Anders gave before he lowered his head and touched her core with the tip of his tongue.

"Ah  _fuck_!" she shouted.

She could brace herself all she wanted but Hawke still wasn't prepared for the literal shock of Anders' tongue against her clit. She clamped down on Varric's arms and slammed back against his chest, yanking away from Anders' mouth even as her hips undulated desperately forward.

"Oh fuck...again..." she panted, pupils blown out and knees falling apart in a desperate plea for more.

The feeling of Anders' mouth alone was nearly enough to send her spiraling over the edge. When he added a low-level vibration that quickly built its way up to an intense charge it was all Varric could do to keep her down while she thrashed and yelled and begged him not to stop. Hawke nearly strangled Anders with her thighs when he pulled back instead, but he gently spread her apart with his fingers and blew a soothing stream of cool air over her overheated folds.

Hawke sobbed, already halfway insane from one touch.

Anders repeated the process when Hawke managed to suck in one full breath before she hyperventilated and passed out. He brought her to the edge again and again with a single zap or short, quick-fire bursts that made her  _scream_  until Varric cast an anxious glance toward the door and covered her mouth with his hand. Between the two of them they could barely keep her from writhing and yelling bloody murder, but Hawke didn't care. She was actually surprised that she didn't break Anders' nose, but he seemed prepared for her reactions and kept one forearm barred across her hips to keep her from bucking too hard.

Hawke didn't know if she came or if she ever stopped coming. By the time her cries became real, actual sobs that ripped their way out of her chest she couldn't feel between her legs anymore. She finally begged for knickerweasels or basketnugs or whatever the fuck their safe word was and collapsed in a sprawled out mess in Varric's arms. She heaved for air and every single hair on her body was standing on end. She couldn't make herself let go of Varric's arms and knew she had to be hurting him with how hard she was clenching down. Her fingers were like ice from having lost all blood flow.

Varric didn't seem overly concerned. He pressed kisses and soft words of praise into her hair, ignoring the individual strands that stuck to his cheeks and lips from the electricity that was still working its way out of her body in tiny tremors.

"Ah. Just a second," Anders said and then he was gone after dropping a hasty kiss to Hawke's knee. Hawke didn't know where he went, but he returned almost immediately. He showed her a flat piece of metal that she looked at curiously until he brushed it against the back of her hand.

"Ow, shit!" she and Varric chorused when the metal shocked the fuck out of them. Anders dropped the scrap metal and stuck his fingers in his mouth before he could say as much, too.

"Sorry about that. Probably should have warned you first," Anders mumbled around his fingers.

He pulled his hand away from his mouth and gingerly picked up the metal. It seemed the electrical buildup had discharged itself in one painful jolt, which Hawke supposed was preferable to walking around shocking herself every time she touched a doorknob or shook someone's hand. It still stung like a bitch, though.

"You think?" Varric said sarcastically. He smoothed down the hairs on his arms and rubbed out the imprints of Hawke's fingers before leaning down to brush a cautious kiss across her lips. They both let out a relieved breath when neither of them got shocked again.

Hawke wasn't getting up or moving for the next five years. Anders was still half hard and she could feel Varric's arousal poking her in the back, but her arms and legs and head all felt like lead. She was too tired to even offer face sits and let Varric wipe her down when Anders brought over a towel and a damp flannel for clean up.

"C'mere," Hawke slurred when he hesitated to join them in the bed.

Varric had obviously enjoyed watching Hawke play with Isabela and Anders but hadn't indicated an interest in actually getting involved with anyone other than Hawke. Both men seemed content to ignore their flagging erections like they'd had plenty of practice. The thought that any erections of theirs should go untouched made her inexplicably sad.

They shuffled around until Anders was sandwiched between them in the wet spot. He didn't seem to mind. He settled onto his side with Varric against his back, arm slung over Anders' waist. They were all the same height while lying down with their heads on the pillows. Hawke fitted herself against Anders' front and tucked his head under her chin while they twined their legs together with Varric's.

"Humans. Too many limbs," Varric complained, getting lost in the tangle of arms and legs and bedding.

"We're not octopuses," Hawke said. "Octopi?"

"Pusses," Anders said with such conviction that Hawke sniggered.

They repeated the word "pusses" with an emphasis in different places and increasing vulgarity until Varric made a sound like he was thoroughly done with both of them and threatened to make them sleep on the floor.

"You know…" Anders said and then trailed off without continuing, clamming up instead.

Varric wouldn't even let Hawke get away with that and prodded, "If you've got something to say, just spit it out."

"Are you sure you want to encourage me? I might be about to confess my undying love."

"I get that a lot," Varric said breezily. "So what's on your mind?"

"I just realized none of the gangs in the Undercity came to my door all week. Granted, it hasn't been that long, but usually they're the first ones bullying their way into my clinic demanding to be seen 'or else'."

"They're busy people. Places to go, throats to cut. Maybe you've slipped their minds."

"Right. The apostate running the free clinic in the sewers. Easy to forget. You didn't have anything to do with this?"

"You must have me confused with someone else. I'm just a businessman and a storyteller."

 _Liar_ , Hawke thought affectionately.

Anders had learned it was better not to press when Varric decided to remain mum on a subject – a lesson that had yet to sink in with Hawke. She was determined to wear him down one of these days and finally get a straight answer out of him about something.  _Anything_. However, when a yawn cracked her jaw and spread to Anders and then Varric she knew today would not be that day. At least Varric's newfound influence with the Guild or Kirkwall's underbelly was already reaping benefits. She might actually have to sneak a look at some of those letters he was sending out.

Hawke lost track of the thread of conversation, but one minute they were talking and the next Anders passed out mid-sentence. His deep breaths that very nearly qualified as snores drifted up moments later. Hawke and Varric stared at each other over his head and tried to muffle their snickers.

"Yeah… I guess we can keep this one," Varric said softly. He stroked his fingers through Anders' hair and glanced down at him with a self-suffering but affectionate look. " _Two_ humans. Maker fucking preserve me. My mother is rolling over in her grave as we speak."

"Are you sure?"

"As sure as a nug in shit. You don't come from a noble bloodline without hearing about 'descended from Paragon whatshisface' this or 'preserve the line of House Tethras' that. I'm pretty sure if rocks could cry the Stone would be doing so right now."

Hawke thanked the Maker her own mother was nothing like that despite being raised a noblewoman. While Leandra did want the Amell estate back desperately it was only because it was her birthright, her home, and the only thing of value she could leave her children and their descendants after they'd already lost everything in Lothering. Regardless, that wasn't exactly what Hawke meant when she'd asked Varric if he was sure.

"I meant about…" she paused to make sure their newest bedmate was still asleep and whispered, "Anders. We didn't exactly get a chance to discuss how this was going to go. Or  _where_  it was going to go."

"I guess that depends on Blondie. Blue might have let him come out to play this time but who's to say he won't become the spiritual equivalent of a cockblock? It's your call whether or not this is something you want as a regular gig. You know I don't mind sharing but I'm drawing the line at cats and refugees lining up outside my door. Corff would kick us all out, besides."

"Why does it always have to be my decision? You should know by now I don't exactly have the best judgment in the world."

"Hawke, I'm not going to tell you who you can and can't love. If Blondie is who you want, and if the feeling is mutual, then we'll find a way to work it out. Try not to get too hung up on the details."

Hawke knew that was easier said than done, but if Varric didn't have any objections then she really didn't have a valid argument. She sighed and went for the obvious subject change.

"I heard that was a common complaint in that one series you hate anyone knowing you wrote. What was it called again?  _Stones and Sheaths_?"

" _Swords and Shields_ ," Varric groaned. "Andraste's flaming knickers. I swear those books are going to haunt me to my dying day."

"I'm not much of a reader but now you've got me intrigued," Hawke said with a grin that started to go feral around the edges when Varric made a constipated face.

She would have loved to tease him more but she was honestly, truly exhausted. The kind of exhausted that came from hard work and physical activity and the feeling of a job well done. She snuggled up as close to the both of them as she could possibly get and sighed when Varric removed his spectacles and tugged a blanket over them.

She really liked those spectacles.

When she woke, Hawke found herself rubbing against the first boner she came across without even opening her eyes. She could feel a solid body on either side of her and a tangle of blankets at her feet, which meant she had somehow squirmed her way between Anders and Varric in the middle of the night. She looked and realized poor Varric had been backed to the edge of the bed while she and Anders had claimed all remaining space for themselves. They weren't making a very good start in endearing Varric to humans. He was snuggled up tight against her back and his morning wood poked the crease of her thigh. Hawke didn't think he really minded having his bed invaded by them.

Anders' eyes were still closed and his breathing was deep and even, although at least one part of him was plenty awake. He was facing her which was an unusual but not unwelcome sight to wake up to. In the Deep Roads, he had always made himself the little spoon and kept his back to her front. She probably could have figured out why sooner if she hadn't been so oblivious. She reached down to encircle him with her hand and gave him a few languid strokes. She watched in rapt fascination as his eyes moved beneath his lids and his lips parted with a sigh.

He came awake in degrees. There was less space between his breaths and he shifted his legs restlessly. She hissed when his icy feet brushed her ankles and made a mental note to stop stealing all the blankets in the future. He was cold all over and he automatically sought out her warmth, hips hitching in tiny motions as he shuffled closer to her. His pale eyelashes fluttered and Hawke felt a surge of nervous anticipation as she saw a flash of amber like sunlight striking a glass of whiskey just right when his eyes opened.

His gazed flitted around, still sleep-fogged, before he fixed on her with something akin to shock. The thoughts on his face were so transparent that Hawke wondered if this was what it was like to be Varric. He always seemed to read her like an open book and now Anders was laid bare before her in all sense of the word.

"No, you're not dreaming," Hawke whispered in assurance. She felt her cheeks crease with a smile when he shuddered out a sigh and closed his eyes, sending up a silent prayer to the powers that be that made her heart ache to witness.

She'd probably go to the Void for it, but she kissed him before he could finish whatever missive he'd been drafting to the Maker in his head. She'd become inured to morning breath - among other things – after they'd gone without bathing for two months in the Deep Roads. Fortunately, Anders didn't seem to mind either and kissed her back after only the barest fraction of hesitation. He seemed intent on scouring the sleep from her mouth and she welcomed him eagerly, hand still curled loosely around his cock.

"I want this in me," Hawke said when they came up for air. She leaned her forehead against his and gave him a light but meaningful squeeze. "Both of you," she added when she felt Varric shift behind her.

"It's too early for this shit," Varric grumbled. His voice was all sandpaper and gravel, but he pressed a kiss to her shoulder blade and dragged his hand down her chest, stomach, and thigh in a very purposeful manner so she knew he didn't really mean it.

Hawke had a brief internal struggle on which way to position herself. She didn't want her back to either of them for fear that they'd feel excluded and she wanted to see their faces. She didn't think there was a way to see them both at the same time without a level of contortionism that was completely beyond her basic athletic abilities.

"Should we flip a coin to see who's on top?" Hawke suggested.

"I'm fine with lying here," Varric said as he rolled onto his back away from the edge of the bed. He scratched idly at the trail of hair leading down his belly before encircling his cock with one hand and giving himself a slow stroke from root to tip.

"Lazy," Hawke murmured, but she was watching his fingers with a feeling like hunger growing in the pit of her stomach. Maker, she didn't  _care_  who was on top. All she wanted was both of them inside her. Now.

Decision made, Hawke mounted his legs and climbed aboard. Varric quickly got with the program and held the base of his cock steady for her as she worked herself down on him while hurrying not to rush. He was so thick and the stretch ached so good even after she'd been fucked by Anders.

"It's not queer if our balls touch, Blondie," Varric joked, inviting him over with a beckoning curl of his fingers.

"I thought I wasn't your type?" Anders said as he knelt behind Hawke and looked down at Varric over her shoulder.

"Don't worry. He says that to all the humans he wants to fuck," Hawke told him.

"I do not!" Varric protested. Hawke raised an incredulous eyebrow and he relented. " _Fine_. Blondie, there's oil in that top drawer there. Use it to open Hawke up for you."

Hawke's inner walls squeezed in anticipation and Varric hissed, tapping out on her thigh while Anders went to retrieve the oil.

"Take it easy, sweetheart, or this ride isn't going to last long. Not a Warden, remember?"

"You're really going to let Anders show you up?" Hawke taunted, flexing again just to watch him squirm.

"Fuck. I might not have a choice. You have any idea how good you look right now?  _Damn_ , Hawke."

"Oh hush," Hawke said, flushing. She looked away but eased her tight grip on him. He relaxed with a sigh and patted her hip gratefully.

Anders returned with the vial of sweet almond oil Varric kept at his bedside for "moisturizing purposes." Hawke teased that his cock was the only part of him that wasn't ashy. They barely had a month left in the year and the Free Marches were bitterly cold and dry this close to winter. Hawke felt plenty warm when Anders curled an arm around her waist and dropped a kiss against her neck.

"Ready?" he asked.

"Mm," Hawke moaned her agreement and stretched into the kiss, reaching up to thread her fingers through his hair to keep his lips there.

Anders dropped the unopened vial onto the mattress where it immediately got lost among the bedding and stroked his hands across her ribs to cup the scant handfuls of her breasts. Hawke moaned softly and let go of Anders to brace her hands against Varric's chest and used his thick chest hair as an anchor. She lifted off of Varric's cock so he didn't come too soon and hovered over him on her hands and knees so Anders had better access.

Anders rolled her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers and kissed his way down her spine. Hawke arched her back and vocalized encouragement when Anders tongued the divots of her tailbone and kept going lower. Varric's hands replaced Anders' on her chest and he smirked up at her when Anders held her open and breathed a stream of icy air over her opening.

"Fuck!" Hawke cried out and pitched forward, but Varric and Anders' hands kept her pinned in place. She was helpless to do anything except take it.

Hawke's arms and legs wobbled and threatened to dump her on top of Varric when Anders alternated his ice breath with swipes of his tongue that was as hot as a brand. If he used the electricity thing on her too, then Hawke was done. She probably wouldn't even be alive at that point. She barely noticed when he started working his fingers into her, his  _slick_  fingers, until he was already two deep.

Ah, right. Grease spell. She'd forgotten.

…Hawke had never loved magic more.

By the time Hawke felt like she couldn't take not being fucked any longer, Anders was working three of his long fingers in and out of her ass. She was positively  _dripping_  out of all of her orifices. She might have even drooled on Varric's forehead a bit.

"I can't..." she gasped, thrusting her hips helplessly. "Now. Fuck me now. Now now now," she chanted, nearly a sob.

"It's okay, babe. We got you," Varric promised as he rested a hand against the back of her neck and brought her down for a kiss.

Hawke warbled out a piteous moan and thrust her ass into the air, silently begging to be taken before she lost her mind. Anders removed his fingers and replaced them with the head of his cock. He didn't take her to the hilt like she wanted; instead, he worked himself deeper and deeper in incremental measures until she felt his balls snug up against her ass.

Oh, Maker, she was so  _full_  and she still had to fit Varric inside her as well.

"Why don't you two get a head start? That way we have a more even playing field," Varric suggested, not looking away from whatever stupid expression was on Hawke's face that he seemed to find so enthralling.

"You'd better not be chickening out, dwarf," Hawke gasped as Anders slammed into her so hard that he had to grab her hips to pull her back onto his cock. She whined and wrapped her arms around Varric's torso as she hid her face against his chest and resisted the urge to bite down. He would complain for the rest of their lives if she tore out a single strand of his chest hair. She carefully kept her hands and teeth to herself.

"I'm not ashamed to admit I might need a handicap in this case. Don't worry. I'll catch up. Blondie, you'd better take care of my girl."

"Always," Anders promised before he buried his face between Hawke's shoulder blades and really started fucking her.

Hawke sobbed breathlessly and she sought out Varric's mouth, kissing him with a desperation wrought of want and arousal. She thrilled at the novelty of being able to kiss him while being fucked at the same time. Their height difference usually only allowed for one or the other and she was loving this set up already. Hawke arched her back and pushed against Anders' cock while she shoved her tongue into Varric's mouth. She whimpered as he twined his dexterous organ around hers before sucking on her tongue like it was a smaller version of a cock.

She'd tease him about not being into that sort of thing except his hand found its way between her legs. She lost all train of thought as he slid two thick, blunt fingers into her and started fucking her in counterpoint to Anders' movements. He got a thumb on her clit and Hawke didn't even have room to shout when climax rolled through her body without warning.

"Ah, ah!" Hawke cried out, wrenching her mouth away from Varric's. She clamped down so tightly that Anders swore and collapsed against her back, stilling all movements of his hips.

"I'm pretty sure she could crack walnuts if she wanted to," Varric said as Hawke fluttered around his fingers and Anders' cock.

Anders snorted out a helpless, messy laugh against Hawke's shoulder and wrapped both arms around her waist. "I will never look at bar nuts the same way again."

"Whose nuts are you looking at?" Hawke panted.

She didn't know what Anders did with his right hand, but it suddenly disappeared and Varric's eyes went wide as he choked out a strangled, "B-Blondie!"

"Are you ready for us, Hawke?" Anders said. His voice dipped into deep, rumbling registers that sent sparks that may or may not have been actual electricity racing up and down her spine.

"Maker,  _please_ ," Hawke begged, already beginning to move again.

"Shh," Varric soothed as he slipped his wet fingers out of her and swiped them down his length. Hawke felt his cock being held steady against her lips and she didn't even care who was doing the holding as she spread her knees apart and sunk down on him as much as she could without dislodging Anders.

They took a while to find their rhythm, but once they did... Oh. It really  _was_  magic.

Hawke closed her eyes and allowed herself to be buffeted between them without resisting wherever the tide wanted to pull her. She had never felt so full, so turned on. She almost couldn't feel the drag of Varric's cock pumping in and out of her because she was so wet. The lack of friction undoubtedly kept him from coming too soon, but when she looked he was red-faced and sweating with a Herculean effort not to release before Anders did.

That competitive motherfucker.

Hawke choked out a laugh and Varric blinked open his eyes in confusion. His expression went soft and soppy the second he looked at her. He cupped a hand against her cheek and kissed her forehead, her nose, and lingered on her lips. His smile overlapped her own perfectly. She wanted so badly for them both to come inside her, to fill her up with their seed until she was bursting, but her days of questionable judgment had to come to an end sooner or later.

"Close?" she murmured against Varric's lips. She ground back against both him and Anders when he started to protest and he relented with a sigh.

"Dammit.  _Yes_."

"Me too," Anders said, cheek brushing against Hawke's as he joined their little party.

"Oh, thank fuck." Varric heaved out a relieved gust of air that made both his partners laugh. "How do you want to do this, Hawke?"

"...Come on me," Hawke said. She nearly changed the 'o' to an 'i' but she managed to resist at the very last second.

"You don't have to tell me twice."

Hawke dragged it out for as long as she could. She humped them both with wild abandon, but all too soon Varric had to hold her back with one hand on her hip as the other moved frantically over his cock in a blur. She was torn between watching his face and watching his hand as he tipped his head back and came with a nearly-silent gasp. His release hit her belly and streaked over his chest, beading in the hairs and on his sweat-damp muscles.

Hawke ducked down to clean him with her tongue and Anders sped up with a groan. The sound of their bodies slapping together was obscenely loud until he suddenly pulled out of her and grunted. Ropes of come burned the skin over her ass and lower back. She felt each pulse even if she couldn't see it. Anders was breathing heavily as he slowly lowered himself against Hawke's back without care for the mess…or crushing Varric, apparently.

"You've got to be kidding me," Varric groaned, trying and failing to wiggle out from beneath their combined weight.

Hawke laughed and buried her face against Varric's shoulder as she moved her thigh so she wasn't crushing anything valuable. She heard a wet smack next to her ear and turned her head to see Anders kissing Varric's forehead.

Varric sputtered out a laugh and pushed Anders' face away. "Yeah, yeah. Love you, too, Blondie."

Despite being a joke, Anders looked so stunned, so honestly touched by his words that even Varric looked uncomfortable.

"Don't let it go to your head or anything," Varric blustered. "I love long walks on the beach and curling up in front of a fire with a good book, too."

"You hate long walks -  _especially_  on the beach," Hawke pointed out. "You always complain about sand getting in your boots and into Bianca's fussy bits."

"I swear to the blighted Paragons, Hawke..."

Hawke laughed, too loud and too bright for this warm cocoon of intimacy she'd found herself bundled up in, but neither Varric nor Anders seemed to mind. When Varric was well and truly in danger of passing out from oxygen deprivation, they climbed out of bed and crowded into the tub together as Anders heated them a bath. They splashed around as Hawke was passed back and forth between their laps exchanging kisses until they all tasted exactly the same. Hawke's cheeks stung from beard burn and the smile that refused to go away.

Varric pulled on a housecoat and went downstairs while she and Anders dried each other off and made out. He returned with a tray of breakfast foods that the three of them demolished in bed. It was a little chilly in the room and Hawke had put on one of Varric's silk robes, though a glance at the fireplace from Anders was enough to get the fire roaring merrily again. She still worried that he was going to burn himself out, but Anders seemed so much better than he had been when she'd gone to him in his clinic. They all carried scars from the Deep Roads - many of them healed by Anders' magic - but some went so deep that only time, or deep-rooted denial, would even begin to smooth them over.

"I wish I could stay, but I really must see to my patients," Anders said apologetically after breakfast, kissing the jam from Hawke's lips and fingertips when she whined a protest. "This truly was the best day I've ever had in my life. I can't thank either of you enough for sharing all of this with me."

Varric ruffled his hair and said, "Don't be a stranger, Blondie."

Hawke curled up in Varric's arms and watched with a maudlin feeling of longing as Anders got dressed. He really did wear nothing underneath those robes of his but even that useful information wasn't enough to cheer her up again. She had to suppress the violent urge to rip Anders' clothing off and pitch his coat and robes into the fireplace, forcing him to stay where she could keep an eye on him.

Hawke pulled away and knelt up on the edge of the bed as Anders searched around for his staff and satchel, almost ready to leave. Who knew how long he would be gone, or if he'd ever return?

"You'll come back, right?" Hawke asked, unreasonably afraid to let him out of her sight.

If this was how Varric felt about her, worrying that she would work herself to death or forget to eat or was cold or lonely or a million other terrible things then she wasn't sure she wanted it. Except that she knew she did…so much.

Anders gave her a small but achingly tender smile. He caught the edges of her robe and pulled them together, preserving her modesty even though they all knew that was a lost cause. She'd lost the belt somewhere, which was a shame because Hawke was already having thoughts of getting her wrists tied to the headboard while being speared between the two of them.

"I wouldn't miss Wicked Grace night for the world," Anders said gently, locking his eyes with hers like he was willing her to understand.

Anders' words doused Hawke like a cold bucket of water and put a stop to her fantasies. If she wasn't certain before, she definitely heard his answer in the chaste, familial kiss he pressed against her forehead. She had to fight the urge to cry as she clutched at the front of his coat before forcing herself to slowly, reluctantly let him go.

He had made his choice, or Justice had, and she had to respect his decision even if she didn't agree.

"Before I forget. May I?"

Anders dropped the edges of her robe and hovered a hand over her belly. There was actually a very slight curve to it now, though it could be attributed to all the food she'd eaten the past two days. Still, Hawke pooched her stomach out purposefully, fitting the swell to the curve of Anders' palm. She felt his magic as a faint tingle that spread between her legs and up through her chest and back down again to center between her hips.

She watched him intently but she couldn't read his expression as he closed his eyes and focused. Anders' face was so carefully neutral that Hawke may as well give him all the coin he was going to win off her at Wicked Grace now. Several minutes passed before Anders opened his eyes and let his hand fall away, taking his magic and all the warmth away with him.

"Your next cycle will confirm it…but you're not pregnant, Hawke," Anders said softly like he didn't know whether to offer condolences or congratulations.

Hawke stared at him uncomprehendingly.

She hadn't known how much she did and did not want children until that very moment. Until it was no longer a possibility. She might be financially secure now and soon be the proud new owner of her very own Hightown estate, but raising a kid took so much more than making sure they food and clothes and a roof over their head. The biggest part was teaching them to be decent human beings...or halflings, or whatever they were called when one parent was a dwarf.

A decent  _person_  then. Hawke didn't have the first clue how not to fuck something like that up.

On the other hand, she might have…just maybe…bought into the idea of having that white picket fence life with Varric. She could see them filling a house with puppies and children, maybe even Anders' children too, noise and chaos at every turn. Varric could still write his books while bouncing a baby on his knee. Hawke had the freedom to choose between staying home or going out to help those people around Kirkwall that needed helping. She knew her friends would support her either way.

It was only her and Leandra and Bethany now and nothing would ever replace Carver or Father. She should have known that rebuilding the Hawke family one addition at a time was a ridiculous notion that she had no business having. She was only glad she hadn't said anything to her mother and gotten Leandra's hopes up, too.

Hawke sagged back onto her heels with a sound like she was deflating. She blinked unseeingly at Anders' chest, at the livid bite mark on his throat, not sure how she should feel. She was strangely empty. Like all the fear and anxiety and wonder that had been growing inside her belly was just…gone. Hawke exhaled and felt like a snake shedding its skin, sloughing off layers of herself until she was raw and vulnerable underneath.

Anders had broken her heart twice in the span of minutes. She didn't say a word or try to stop him as he gazed at them sadly, gathered his things, and left, closing the door quietly behind him.

"Hawke…" Varric started to say, but that was it. Just her name, like he was at a loss for words.

Despite his best efforts, Hawke could see the disappointment bleed through his usual careful mask when she looked over at him. And, Maker, didn't that just burn? She ached at the thought of being a disappointment to Varric, to the one person whose opinion mattered most to her.

"I need to go," Hawke said.

Varric made a startled sound of protest and reached out for her but Hawke got up and moved away before he made contact.

"I need to see my family especially if there are insane templars out there turning mages Tranquil and darkspawn popping up out of the woods. I shouldn't have been away for so long. Anything could have happened to Bethany."

"I'll come with you," Varric said, starting to get up as well.

"Don't," Hawke said so harshly that Varric sat right back down and stared at her. Hawke lowered her eyes and turned away. She folded the robe she'd borrowed just for something to do with her hands. "Don't follow me, Varric. I…need some space. Some time to think, all right?"

"Hawke, I really don't think—"

"You  _promised_ ," Hawke hissed, dropping the robe to point an accusing finger at Varric. "'Whatever you need.' Isn't that what you said? And I'm telling you I need to be alone. So just…fuck off."

Hawke knew she was being needlessly cruel but distress, it seemed, made her reckless, boiling her down to the bare bones that were ugly and rotting on the inside. Anger was the only thing keeping the tears and devastation at bay, so she clung to her rage like the only tether keeping her from being swept out to sea. Maybe this would be the last straw that broke through whatever rosy filter Varric saw her through and he could finally see her for who she really was – someone who was impatient, moody, short-tempered, impulsive, and violent.

She wasn't fit to be anyone's lover or mother and the sooner he realized that the better off he would be.

Varric didn't try to stop her as Hawke rushed through getting dressed. She jammed her feet into her boots without socks and knotted the laces rather than tying them just so she could go. The more time she lingered in Varric's room the less oxygen there seemed to be. She didn't know how long she would be away or when, if ever, she would be back. She kicked at the locked chest containing their packs in frustration when it refused to budge and swore.

"Don't," Varric said sharply, anger finally leeching through his usual calm. "Unless you want to blow your foot off."

"Then open this fucking thing so I can get out of your hair. I need to get out of here."

Varric raked a hand through his unbound hair like he really could dislodge her so easily and blew out a breath. He climbed out of bed and grabbed his key and set of lockpicks from a hollowed out book on his shelf.  _Elfroot and 101 Indigenous Weeds_ , by the looks of it. The longer he took the more Hawke wanted to bash his head against the chest and run. She wrapped her arms around her torso and clenched her teeth instead as she directed her anger inward where it belonged.

Finally, Varric popped the lid open and stood back. He didn't look at her as Hawke upended the contents of one pack and hastily stuffed her Hightown purchases into it. She also grabbed a few pieces of jewelry with Leandra and Bethany in mind, her coin purse, and even a handful of imperfect gems for Gamlen that he'd no doubt spend on drink and whores. She left the rest for Varric to do with as he would. Hawke had survived her entire life on much less.

Hawke didn't kiss him or touch him or spare the room one last lingering look as she slammed through the door and down the stairs, taking them two or three at a time. She stumbled on the last step and rammed her stomach against the edge of a table as she tried to catch herself. A shot of terror went through her until she remembered that it didn't matter anymore. She could be stabbed in the gut and it wouldn't matter.

Hawke barely made it out of the tavern before she doubled over and vomited on the sidewalk, choking back her sobs at the same time.

"Rough night, eh?" an old man sitting in a heap of rags said sympathetically as he leaned out of splash range. He blinked at her, bleary-eyed and boozy as he lifted the tin he'd been using to beg for change to his lips and tried to take a swig. Coppers rattled against his rotten, yellow teeth and Hawke shuddered.

"You have no idea."

She spit and swiped the back of her hand across her mouth as she tried to get a hold of herself. She fished out the first coin her fingers found in her pocket and dropped it into the vagrant's tin without looking. Whatever the denomination, it was enough to make the man's eyes bug out and gaze up at her with a mixture of rapture and suspicion.

Hawke turned on her heel and strode away, putting as much distance between her and the Hanged Man as quickly as possible. She reached the slums much faster than she'd anticipated without even considering what she was going to say to her family.

Hawke stared up at the stairs leading up to Gamlen's house and lingered at the base as she tugged fitfully on the straps to her pack. It was so much lighter than it had been filled to the brim with treasure, but it kept her feet anchored to the ground all the same. Hawke waffled over that first step and wondered if maybe she shouldn't pop in at the Alienage first and say hello to Merrill? Or Aveline? Or anywhere except here or the Hanged Man.

Hawke didn't get the chance to chicken out when she heard frantic barking and the scrabble of sharp claws against the wooden door.

"What is it, boy? Who's there?" Hawke heard Leandra say. Her mother's tone, wary and fearful, decided Hawke before she even knew her feet were moving.

Hawke's knuckles rapped against the door and Snowflake's barks became wild and high-pitched, drowning out whatever Leandra said next. Hawke drummed her fingers against her thighs and bounced on her heels as she waited for the rusty screech of a bolt being unlocked. She forced a smile onto her face as the door swung open.

 _And so returns the prodigal daughter_ , Hawke thought, her smile taking a wry twist when Leandra's eyes widened with shock. Snowflake nearly bowled them both over as he yelped overexcited puppy cries and bounded in a circle around her.

"Marian!" Leandra uttered a soft scream and clapped her hands to her mouth. She quickly pulled Hawke into a fierce, hard hug and dragged her into the house in the same motion.

"You're back! Oh, my baby. How I've missed you!" Leandra cried.

Hawke felt tears of joy and relief pricking her own eyes as she laughed and hugged her mother back.

"I know. Me too," Hawke said. "I-"

"Oh,  _Marian_ ," Leandra said and Hawke realized her weeping had taken on a distinctly mournful edge. "They took her! Templars took Bethany!"

Hawke's pack dropped to the floor. Gold and jewels spilled out, forgotten.

"Who? When?" she demanded. Her voice went hard and cold as she gripped Leandra by the shoulders and gave her a firm shake. Snowflake danced in place at her heels but he ducked guiltily, ears flat and tail nub directly pointed at the ground, when Hawke rounded on him. "You were supposed to  _protect_  her!"

"Don't blame Snowflake. Bethany said she wanted to go. The templars came a month after you left. They promised not to chain her up or arrest us if she came peacefully. I still can't believe Bethany would want to go to that awful place."

" _Who took her_?" Hawke snarled. She would gladly be imprisoned in Bethany's place if that meant her sister was safe and free. It was only a small relief that she couldn't have prevented Bethany from being taken if only she'd gone home sooner rather than hiding away at Varric's.

"Please don't do anything, Marian," Leandra said, wringing her hands together. "It was… It was Ser Cullen. He came to take Bethany away."

Hawke let go of her mother and turned to walk right back out the door, stepping over her pack without sparing it a second thought. She snapped her fingers at Snowflake when he tried to follow and growled, " _Stay_."

He whimpered and crouched flat on the floor.

"What are you going to do?" Leandra cried, holding onto the doorframe like it was the only thing keeping her up.

Hawke glanced back once, fire racing through her veins.

"I'm going to get my sister back."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I’m sorry, guys! –ducks flying projectiles-
> 
> I always found it funny that in the game Cullen just so happens to be apprehending Bethany at the precise time Hawke returns from the Deep Roads (if Bethany’s alive and left behind). I picture templars sitting around having tea and a nice chat with Hawke’s family while they run through exactly what they’re going to say when Hawke gets back. And then Cullen pretty much tells Hawke, “Okay. We’re taking Bethany now. Don’t make a fuss and we’ll just go…” 
> 
> I know it’s done that way for dramatic impact, but these are the things I can’t help thinking about. XD


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So sorry for the delay, my darlings! I'm currently working on revising my story Spooning Leads to Forking for publication and I'm afraid that's consuming my life right now. If you haven't read the fic yet, then I highly recommend doing so or downloading it for later before it's gone from the interwebs forever! Or just wait for the ebook. XD
> 
> FYI: I added a tiny blurb in Chapter 11 when Hawke and Varric visit Solivitus after the Deep Roads expedition. It's for the side quest An Herbalist's Task 2. Basically, Sol requests a varterral's heart, Dalish tattoo ink (which has relevance later), and a Harlot's Blush flower.
> 
> I have a billion outlines and rough drafts, but I'm sure there will still be things I'll end up revising later. Apologies in advance!
> 
> I hope you enjoy!

Not even the half day's walk to Hightown was enough to take the wind out of Hawke's sails. The usual amount of time she took to get there was halved when she ran and did not stop until she reached the marketplace. Several vendors were already closing up shop, but Hawke barely paused to catch her breath as she bypassed Hubert and Solivitus' stalls and caught up to Bodahn and Sandal as they were packing up for the day.

"Messere!" Bodahn said with surprised pleasure. "My boy and I weren't certain if we would see you again today, but here are your dag—"

"Thanks, Bodahn. No time to talk," Hawke gusted out in a single syllable as swapped the sheathed daggers in Bodahn's hands with a handful of coins from her coin purse.

"You already—"

Hawke already turned to go, but she'd forgotten about the initial discharge. Electricity and ice crackled up her arms and into her chest. Hawke very nearly dropped the daggers with a sob, struck with the sense memory of Anders' magic touching the deepest parts of her. A sharp ache throbbed between her legs and it was all she could do not to throw the daggers away from her and scream. She curled her fists around the hilts and grit her teeth instead.

A part of her warned against the foolhardiness of storming the Gallows while armed when she was this upset, but Hawke's instincts for self-preservation weren't the greatest at the best of times. She was nearly out of daylight by the time she reached the docks as the last ferry was settling into port.

"Trips are done for the day. Come back in the morning," the single ferryman said without looking up as he started tying his boat to a post to keep the vessel from drifting off.

"I need to get to the Gallows right away," Hawke said impatiently.

"Maybe you don't hear so good, but I said—"

Hawke snarled and before she knew it she fisted one hand in the man's vest and backed him to the very edge of the dock. One shove would send him pitching backward into the frigid, black waters.

"Maybe you don't hear so good," she said very slowly, each word dripping with the threat of promised violence, "so let me rephrase it. Take. Me. To. The. Gallows. Now. You  _really_  don't want me to ask nicely."

The young man was bewildered enough to ignore the danger to his own life and say, "Can't say I care much for your not nice way of asking."

Hawke gave a little push and his arms windmilled frantically before he caught himself on the rope he'd been tying. She fisted both hands in his shirtfront and brought her face close enough to make out the pockmarks on his forehead and cheeks in excruciating detail.

"This is me asking  _very_  nicely. You see these daggers?" Hawke said, tipping her head toward the left dagger strapped to her back. "This one is called 'Naughty'. And this one," she tilted her head in the other direction. "This one is 'Nice.' Now, I'll ask you again. Will you take me, or will I have to ask nice-ly?"

"No! I mean, don't kill me! Y-Yes. Give me a moment set the rigging and I'll take you, Miss…?"

"Where are my manners?" Hawke said, all sugar-sweet as she pulled him back from his perilous lean and brushed out the wrinkles in his shirtfront. "You can call me Hawke. However, if you don't get that pile of tinder you call a boat sea ready in the next twenty seconds, the only thing you'll be addressing are the fishes. Got it?"

Hawke had to give the man credit. He didn't even waste a second yelping out an affirmative before he immediately started untying the rope around the post and doing whatever boating type stuff he needed to make sure they didn't sink on the way to the island fortress. She wished, briefly, that Isabela was there. She would have knocked the man out, stolen his boat, and they'd have been halfway there already.

As if to spite her, the wind wasn't even in their favor. Hawke was forced to take up an ore and help paddle otherwise they'd go around in circles and take the entire night to ferry across to the Gallows. The manual labor helped give Hawke focus, but the repetitive rowing motions made her shoulders and back muscles scream perhaps fifty strokes in, and they hadn't even crossed a quarter of the distance yet.

Hawke couldn't spare any energy for being intimidating. The ferryman forgot to be afraid of her and soon began talking her ear off to fill the silence save for the slapping of their oars against the water. Hawke tuned out most of the one-sided conversation and grunted single-syllable answers every once in a while. Hawke could only ignore him for so long until something he said must have knocked something loose and she ended up spilling her guts to him instead. About Lothering, about the Deep Roads, about her sister, everything.

He was practically a puddle of hero worship by the time the boat bumped up against the Gallows' loading dock. She hadn't set out to make new friends, but she wasn't above using any advantage if that meant he wouldn't call the guards on her.

It turned out he didn't need to. A guard found them anyway.

"Oy! No more visitors!" an armed guard called and stomped down the pier as they started tying the boat down so Hawke could disembark. "Sun's down!" he said pointing to the setting sun like its path had been foretold by his superiors.

"Fuck. I'm going to have to ask him nicely," Hawke muttered under her breath.

The ferryman shot her a wild-eyed, terrified look and immediately started babbling to the guard. "I—er. Important message. For the… uh… Knight-Commander. Very urgent! Mustn't be delayed!"

"What he said," Hawke said, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to look authoritative.

The guard glared at them and crossed his arms back, clearly unimpressed.

"Do you really want to keep the Knight-Commander waiting?" Hawke said, dropping her hands to her sides and spreading her fingers out placatingly. "If you would like to be the one to explain to her why the report she specifically requested to be delivered as soon as possible is late, then by all means."

"Official transcripts?" the guard barked.

Fuck it all. He wasn't an idiot like the ones she was used to dealing with.

"Oral report," Hawke said, thinking on her feet. "Sensitive information for the Knight-Commander's ears only."

"Likely story. As I said before: No visitors past sundown. I don't make the rules, but I will damn well enforce them. Whatever's so important can wait until sun up when the ports are actually open."

Hawke was two seconds away from leaping off the boat, regulations and potential drowning be damned. Instead, she took a deep, fortifying breath and turned to the ferryman.

"Sorry for involving you in this, Gary," she said. She didn't actually know his name and hadn't been paying attention when he'd blurted out a fleeting introduction somewhere in the middle of his rapid-fire prattle. She tossed him a sovereign hoping it would be enough to cover the cost of the trip as well as the trauma.

"What are you… You're not coming back, Miss Hawke?"

Hawke laughed, a too-bright, brittle sound that made "Gary" wince and look even more concerned. "Doubtful. I'll speak with the fishes on your behalf. Sorry about earlier. It's probably best you forget all of this."

"F-Forgotten!"

"I don't know what you think you're doing, but you can't be here!" the guard said as Hawke braced her hands on the edge of the pier and kicked off the side of the boat as he began to reach for his sword.

She nearly capsized Gary's boat, but she figured a guy with a job like that would at least know how to swim. She rolled beneath the blade that whistled over her head as she tumbled onto the dock. The planks pitched and shifted unexpectedly with their combined movements, but she didn't bother getting to her feet.

She kicked the guard's legs out from beneath him before he could shout for reinforcements. He slammed onto his back and Hawke used her foot to fling off his helmet before smashing her heel into his nose. He roared in furious pain and grabbed her ankle, which set off all kinds of panicked, triggery emotions. She wrenched her foot out of his hand without care for breaking bones – his or her own – and jumped on top of him.

They grappled until she wrapped her legs around his torso and trapped him in a headlock. She used her forearm to block his airway and kept Naughty and Nice in their sheaths. The last thing she wanted was someone else's blood on her hands when she was right on Meredith's doorstep.

He fought and punched at her and nearly rolled them both off the pier. Hawke gritted her teeth and held on until the guard's movements eventually became clumsy and slow from the lack of oxygen. She breathed out a sigh of relief when he stopped fighting and slumped over, still alive but unconscious. Her ears rang from the blows and she was tempted to dump him in the sea anyway, but she wasn't actively trying to get herself sent to the Gallows anymore.

Gary had managed to keep his boat upright, but he was staring at her in wide-eyed fear mixed with a fair bit of awe again. He was a young man working for his father's business until he earned enough coin to buy his own ship and do a little traveling. He was somewhat irritating, but he was trying to do a shitty job in a shitty city and didn't deserve to be an accomplice to murder. Hawke unwound her legs from around the guard and set him down far enough away from the ledge that he wouldn't accidentally roll over and drown.

"Thanks for the ride, Gary. You don't have to wait for me. This might take a while since I do in fact have business with the Knight-Commander and she's not currently my biggest fan."

"I-It's—uh—Gerolt, actually, Miss Hawke. Gerolt LeBrou. But you can call me Gary, of course. And I don't mind stayin'. It looks like you might need a quick getaway."

Hawke laughed, amused that this kid she'd just met already had her pegged so well. She needed to work on making better impressions, but he wasn't wrong. "Gary, if you're still here by the time I get back then I promise I will buy you a fleet of boats or ferries or whathaveyou."

Gary, the good lad, didn't try to argue.

"Good luck finding your sister," he said. His sincerity made Hawke feel even more like a heel for the way she'd accosted him earlier. There was no helping it now.

She stripped the guard of his sword and any potions so when he came to he wouldn't be able to revive himself as quickly and come after her. The sword she did toss into the water where it made a satisfying  _plunk_  upon impact. She found a vial of stamina drought and drank all the yellowish liquid in one swallow before lobbing the empty glass into the water as well. The effects of the potion hit her like a sledgehammer. She staggered down the swaying pier and braced herself against the seawall until the adrenaline spike settled into more manageable levels. All of her aches disappeared and she was left hyper-alert with her earlier rage rekindled.

The guards at the entrance to the templar hall crossed their pikestaffs and attempted to stop her when she approached practically blazing righteous fury. Hawke ducked beneath their weapons and kicked open the double doors before they could grab her. The doors banged against the walls, startling the templars walking through the great hall.

Hawke filled her lungs up and bellowed as loud as she could, "Cullen! Where is my sister?"

The door to Meredith's office swung open with nearly the same amount of force and Orsino's across the hall also opened a few seconds later. Hawke didn't acknowledge either of them and continued yelling.

"Cullen! I swear to the blighted Maker if you don't show yourself I will find you and skin you alive!"

"How dare you!" Meredith hissed, approaching Hawke with fury writ all over her face. Templars and people in mage robes started to come investigate, but they didn't move any closer once they saw Hawke and their Knight-Commander facing off. "I should have you arrested for trespassing."

"On what grounds? You're the ones who broke into my house and kidnapped my sister!"

"You mean the apostate you have been harboring? We have every right to detain a dangerous mage and bring her to the Circle. I suggest you tread cautiously, Hawke. We did not have your mother and uncle thrown in prison since your sister gave herself up willingly. By all rights, your entire family should be sitting behind bars. Cross me, and I promise none of you will see the light of day again."

"Is there a problem?" Cullen said as he approached with a wary look directed at the two women.

"'Is there a  _problem'_?" Hawke repeated incredulously. She barely managed to resist the urge to go for her daggers and start taking swipes at his stupid face. "You took my sister! Bethany's never harmed anyone, and you know it."

"Your sister is fine, Hawke. She came on her own will."

"Oh, she just strolled right in and asked for the tour, did she? So where is she now? Let me see her so she can tell me herself!"

"Mages are not permitted contact with anyone outside the Circle prior to being Harrowed," Meredith said coolly.

"Bethany is fitting in well, Hawke. She excels at her studies, assists with the senior enchanters and minds authority," Cullen said.

 _Unlike her sister_ , was very clearly implied.

"The Knight-Captain speaks the truth," Orsino, the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle, said soothingly. "Your sister is exceptionally talented and I believe she will be an asset to the Circle. I have every faith Miss Hawke will pass her Harrowing."

"I don't care if Bethany is making friends! Cullen, you and I both know no mage will ever truly be free here." Hawke stepped forward and felt like her heartbeat was trying to escape her ribcage. When she spoke again her voice was low and angry and pitched only for Cullen to hear. "How do you sleep knowing you are tearing families apart? Bethany's never hurt anyone. You and I both know she's no danger."

"All unbound mages are dangerous, Hawke. Even the most docile mage is capable of more than you can imagine when given the opportunity."

"And you are the ones forcing them into a corner!" Hawke shouted. "To be subjugated or else made Tranquil! What kind of choice is that? I've seen what your templars do to mages outside of the Circle. Just ask your friend, Alrik. I have proof he's been turning mages into Tranquil puppets for his sick games."

Meredith frowned. "What's this about Alrik?"

"I caught him and his goons attempting to turn a mage girl Tranquil yesterday. Here's the letter he had on him."

Hawke was too angry to care that she'd more or less implicated herself in Alrik and those other templars' deaths, but their bodies would have to be found first. She had little doubt Varric had already started pulling strings like he always did to make her problems disappear. Attempting to break Bethany out of the Gallows' fortress with Meredith and a hundred templars around, however, would stretch even his long reach. She hoped Anders got to work on his mage underground sooner rather than later.

"I did not authorize this," Meredith said sharply as she read over the letter twice. Her expression became darker each time. "If you'll excuse me."

Hawke winced when Meredith slammed her office door behind her. The rest of the onlookers, except for Cullen, scattered or went back to their business. Orsino gave her a sympathetic smile that Hawke pretended not to see before he quietly retreated into his office.

Meredith seemed genuinely surprised by the accusations she'd brought against Alrik. But even if she hadn't condoned his actions, Hawke didn't feel confident in Meredith's ability to control her own Order if something like this had happened under her own nose. And now Bethany was trapped here, helpless to the whims of any templar who thought Hawke's sister could stand to be more… _accommodating_  to whatever perversions these templars were brewing up.

Before Hawke decided to storm the templar base anyway, Cullen curled a hand around her upper arm and stayed further outbursts. His touch was gentle, not restraining, otherwise she might not have been able to contain the trigger-reaction to punch his lights out. She made a token attempt at escape, but he only held on tighter and forced her to lock eyes with him. He had a horrible expression of sympathy and understanding that made her desperate to retreat.

"For what it's worth, I am sorry, Hawke. Unharrowed mages are not permitted contact with the outside, but..." Cullen glanced around and lowered his voice as he leaned in closer to her. "Find me in the Gallows' courtyard and I may be able to pass along word of your sister."

Hawke knew templars have been booted from the Order for lesser infractions. She'd actually met a former templar, Samson, who had been kicked out for passing love letters from a mage to their sweetheart. The fact the Knight-Captain himself was willing to risk a reprimand from Meredith, or worse, made Hawke cease her struggles to get away and go limp in his grasp. She turned toward him, nearly butting her forehead against his.

"Damn you for taking her, Cullen," she breathed, voice threatening to catch. She curled her fingers in the collar of his breastplate and held on to stay upright. The aftereffects of the stamina potion and her own failure threatened to bring Hawke to her knees. "She was the only thing I've ever done right in my life. You had better take care of her."

Hawke voice did break then, but Cullen kindly didn't call her out on it. Instead, he reached up so he was holding both her wrists between them and lowered his head to rest their foreheads together. It was an alarmingly intimate position to find herself in with the Knight-Captain. He now held her sister's life in his hands, but he was the only thing holding Hawke up and she'd take solace where she could. Maker knew she did a great job of burning bridges with anyone who actually cared about her.

"I promise, Hawke," he murmured. His breath, laced with mint and the overly sweet hints of lyrium, brushed against her cheek.

Hawke almost tilted her head to take the comfort she had no right to ask for, least of all from Cullen. She pulled away with a broken laugh before their lips actually connected. She swiped the back of her hand across her cheek when he gently released her, but neither of them hurried to move away. "You're still a son of a bitch, Cullen."

"I know," he said with a regretful quirk of his lips that was far more charming than it had any right to be. "Your dog bit me, by the way."

" _Good,_ " Hawke said, feeling unbearably fond of Snowflake. Then she caught herself grinning back, and that was even more unbearable.

Hawke finally took a step away from him and wrapped her arms around herself to ward off the chills that were threatening to sink into her bones. They didn't have anything left to say to each other. Cullen had taken her sister, her Sunshine, her little Bethy away from her and nothing short of divine intervention would convince him or Meredith to let her come home. Hawke had failed Bethany. She hadn't been there to protect her and she had been taken by the templars just like they had always feared. The one thing their father had imparted before he died was how imperative it was that Bethany stay out of the Circle and live her life as free as any non-mage, and Hawke couldn't even do that right.

"I…might have knocked out one of your guards at the docks," Hawke said as she started backing toward the front doors. She even managed a somewhat sheepish expression when Cullen groaned and rubbed his forehead.

"Maker preserve me," he said, shaking his head. "Did you kill him?"

"I don't believe so?"

"Just go, Hawke. I don't want to see you back here unless it really is for official business. And believe me. We'll contact you first."

Hawke didn't have the best track record with templars, but she'd aided the Knight-Commander a time or two when Meredith required…not tact, necessarily, but unconventional methods to get a job done. She had no doubt Cullen or Meredith would be able to find her if they wanted to avoid getting their hands dirty or risking their own men.

Hawke left the templar hall empty-handed and feeling like someone had taken a dull, rusty spoon and hollowed her out. What was the point of nearly dying in the Deep Roads and returning with glory and riches only to have her sister locked away in some tower with the threat of Tranquility hanging over her head? Hawke agreed that mages could be dangerous if left unchecked, but there was a right and wrong way of keeping them safe from themselves and others. She didn't care for Meredith's way one bit.

The guard was gone by the time Hawke returned. Hawke didn't worry about him reporting the crazed woman who had overpowered him and stolen his sword. In fact, she would bet the contents of her coin purse there would be a patrol on the lookout for no less than five burly mercenary-type men, all armed and highly dangerous. One woman getting the jump on a trained guard was too embarrassing for any warrior worth his salt to admit.

Gary, astonishingly enough, had actually waited for her and waved at her return. Hawke thought she would have to curl up in the bushes somewhere and wait for the next ferry in the morning. She felt even worse about holding him hostage when he patted her on the shoulder in a commiserating way and prepared to take off without a word. He probably ferried a half-dozen families every day who hoped to see a loved one, a mage locked away in the Gallows, only to be turned away in disappointment like she was.

The journey back seemed to take longer, but Hawke was grateful for Gary's rambling that helped fill the hollow spaces in her mind where hope and happiness had once resided.

Gary helped her back onto the loading docks when her jelly-like sea legs refused to solidify and graciously accepted her obscene tip with a promise he would get out of Kirkwall as soon as possible. She stood there for a long time after Gary tied up his boat and gave her a salute as he left. She was at a complete loss as to what to do. She couldn't face her mother without Bethany. The Hanged Man was out of the question, and it was far too late to go around waking up Merrill, Aveline, or Fenris without there being an emergency.

She had never felt so utterly alone before. Hawke slumped against a wall and smoothed her hands over her flat stomach. She hadn't been pregnant to begin with, but she couldn't help feeling an overwhelming sense of loss after Anders' prognosis. Her family had been halved in a single day. There was no baby, no Bethany, and she'd fucked things up so badly with Anders and Varric she didn't even know how to begin repairing either of those relationships.

It was more than Hawke could handle sober.

Despite the throb of her feet from running back and forth across the city all day, Hawke started the familiar trek back up to Hightown. She hadn't been to the Blooming Rose since her public blow up at Varric and could actually afford the drinks now. She didn't know if anyone would look for her there, but she hoped Varric kept his word and left her alone long enough to pickle her liver. She got to stab two cutpurses along the way, which Hawke took as a sign she was on the right course.

The Blooming Rose was a disgrace as far as taverns went. It was clean, brightly lit, and there was not one drunk passed out in a pool of his own vomit. It was no wonder Hawke and her friends, with the exception of Isabela, rarely came here. There were more people in the Rose than she cared to share her drinking grounds with, but that only meant she'd be harder to find in a crowd. All of the tables were already occupied, but Hawke wasn't looking to make any more friends that night. She ordered two drinks to start with and pulled up a chair at a table where one of Lusine's employees, a dwarf with a ginger beard and a welcoming grin, sat.

"Looking to explore the Deep Roads?" he asked, leaning forward with amber eyes lit in interest.

Hawke didn't even have to feign the shiver that crawled down her back and almost started a brawl before she even sat down. "No thanks. I just got back," she said as evenly as she could manage before she downed one tankard and reached for the other.

"You know," the dwarf said, leaning back in his chair and giving her an appraising look. "I'd almost believe you meant that literally. You look like a woman who can handle herself. I'm willing to take that risk if you are, beautiful."

"You don't have a thing against humans?" Hawke said snidely. She might have subconsciously sought out the only dwarf in the place, but she had no interest in hiring anyone's services for the night. Drinking was less pathetic with company, desired or not, so she stayed there instead of finding somewhere else to sit.

The dwarf laughed, lines fanning around his eyes becomingly. "Sweetheart, a guy in my line of work won't get very far by being picky. But I have to say you're a far sight better than most I see coming through here."

It was an obvious line that he managed to make sound suspiciously genuine. A scantily-dressed server walked by and Hawke flagged her down for more drinks. Two mugs of golden ale topped with a creamy head appeared on the table. She pushed one in the dwarf's direction while the girl took the empties and left with an appreciable swish of her hips.

"Thanks," he said, raising his mug toward her. "So, you got a name or should I just stick with Beautiful?" He winked and took a long drink without breaking eye contact.

The flirtation was so familiar that Hawke's heart made an almost audible  _plunk_  when it dropped into her stomach before shooting back up to shake itself off in her chest. She suddenly remembered why he seemed familiar. They had met before, briefly, but she didn't often make the best first impressions. Hawke had been yelling and making threats at the time right before Varric chased her down and shot her. The dwarf was missing the bold tattoos on his face, but she still should have recognized someone related to Varric sooner.

"You're him!" Hawke said, slamming down her tankard and spilling ale over the back of her hand.

"I'm afraid you'll have to be a little more specific, beautiful. I can't be that famous yet," he teased, eyes twinkling with mirth.

"No, I mean you're that guy. Varric's cousin."

"Oh, so you know Varric. He's a popular dwarf," he grinned, but it faltered when Hawke didn't smile back. "But…uh…if you're with the Carta you should probably know we're not very close? I mean, if I go missing he's probably not going to pay my ransom or anything. Shit."

"You're the one who left his kid in the Deep Roads. Denier, right?"

Denier's smile went brittle before it turned into a grimace that even a swallow of Lusine's best ale couldn't wash away. "Ah. So he told you about that," he sighed, running his hand through his hair.

"I really did just come from the Deep Roads and I have to tell you. What you did? Seriously fucked up. And since you already established Varric won't care if you end up in a ditch, give me one reason why I shouldn't gut you right here."

Hawke hit the tabletop with her fist and leaned forward with a snarl. Denier was probably the single worst person to be around Hawke right then. He'd had a baby, a son, and tossed him to the darkspawn without even looking back. Hawke had  _crawled_  her way through the Deep Roads for the chance of starting a family with Varric. She wanted to rip him limb from limb and cry and be sick, maybe not even in that exact order. Denier only lowered his eyes and shrugged instead of taking the opportunity to run like any sane person facing down an enraged Marian Hawke.

"Look, I ain't sayin' what I did was right or excusable," Denier said, losing the posh accent that must have been a front for his Dust Towner brogue. "If ya wanna judge, sister, then yer more than welcome to get in line. Right after the boy's mother and her family and the Carta assassins they've sent after me. Varric's the only reason they've kept off my back this long, but I keep tellin' him not to bother. Hardheaded son of a nug."

"I'm sure he can be convinced," Hawke growled.

"Believe me, there's not a day that goes by that I don't kick myself for it. Ya don't have to tell me how fucked up abandonin' my own kid was. I promised m'self I'd never do what my old man did to my Ma and me." Denier looked down at his tankard before chugging down the rest of his ale and spreading his arms wide. "But here I am. If ya wanna shot, I'll even let ya take the first one for free. It'll be nice not having to look over my shoulder anymore. No less than a feckless blighter like me deserves."

Hawke wanted to take him up on the offer, she really did. Varric might frown at her later, but he'd understand.

"Settle down, Happy. If anyone's killing you it won't be me. Too many witnesses. I have enough trouble as it is," Hawke said, shifting her glare to her empty tankard. "Maker, I need another drink."

"Let me get the next round," Denier said as if he hadn't just offered to let her stab him in the middle of a brothel. Honestly, he'd probably gotten stranger requests.

"I'm going to need something stronger than ale."

"Wait here. I know where Lusine keeps the good stuff."

"You really are trying to get killed," Hawke muttered and then called after him when he got up. "Bring the bottle!"

Lusine's drinks were overpriced but far better than Corff's, Hawke thought a little unfaithfully. The difference was she could usually afford Corff's piss water, especially once Varric had put her on his tab. It figured she could buy Lusine's top shelf booze when she had no one but Varric's son of a bitch cousin to share it with. He returned with a bottle three-fourths full of honey-colored liquor and brandished it victoriously.

"Chasind mead," Denier explained at Hawke's dubious look. "It's no Orzammar brew, but it'll get the job done. Might wanna take it easy, though, 'specially if yer drinkin' on an empty stomach. Or not."

Hawke uncorked the bottle and poured half into her tankard. She wrinkled her nose as the sweetness of the mead mingled with the bitterness of the ale, but after a few swallows she couldn't taste anything except fumes.

"Fuck me," she swore and looked at the bottle appreciatively. The drinks were hitting her harder than they had since she'd first gotten drunk off a bottle of wine she'd stolen from the Chantry when she was thirteen. The only way to rebuild her tolerance was by drinking more, after all. She flicked an irritated look at Denier when he smirked. "Not a request, by the way."

"Didn't think so," Denier said as he reached for the mead and took his first mouthful straight from the bottle. He gave a little shudder, smacked his lips, and belched.

"So much for trying to impress a girl," Hawke scoffed, taking another drink and belching right back. Denier boomed out a laugh that turned more than a few heads their way and Hawke felt herself unwittingly thawing toward him.

"So how d'you know my cousin?" Denier asked after he graciously conceded Hawke as the winner of their contest and refilled their cups.

"We were partners on the Deep Roads expedition. Your cousin…your  _other_  cousin stole an idol Varric found, locked us in an ancient thaig, and left us to die. You can understand if I'm a little sensitive about the Deep Roads."

"No shit," Denier said, eyes wide. "Always knew Bartrand was an asshole, but that's low even for the likes of him. How the fuck didja survive?"

"I ate Varric."

Denier actually looked like he believed her for a second. They'd nearly finished off the bottle of mead, so that might've had something to do with his gullibility. Either way, Hawke couldn't keep a straight face and burst out laughing at his shocked expression.

"Oh, fuck, your face!" Hawke brayed, pointing at him.

Denier grinned apologetically and scratched at his cheek when the pair of nobles sitting at the table next to them got up in a huff. When Denier pulled his hand away, a black streak was left on his skin.

"You got something right here," Hawke said, pointing at her own cheek.

"Ah, shit," Denier said with a glance down at his fingers. "Fucked up my makeup."

The statement was so unexpected that Hawke snorted out helpless laughter and sent two more glaring nobles scurrying to the opposite end of the room. "You're going to need a lot more makeup than that to look pretty," Hawke snickered, rubbing the bridge of her nose where Merrill's kaddis had left a red stain.

"Lusine wants me to cover up the tattoo and dress nice to appeal to the fancier clientele," Denier said, gesturing to his finery before he shrugged. "Don't bother me none. Coverin' up a casteless brand is illegal in Orzammar, but lucky for us we ain't in Ferelden anymore."

"I like tattoos. Been thinkin' about getting one myself," Hawke said, beginning to slur and lean in her chair a little. She used the edge of the table to pull herself back up and reached for the bottle to drain the remainder. "You knew I was from Ferelden?"

"Sure. I also know yer name is Marian Hawke," Denier said, a little too slyly.

"I can't be that famous yet, despite Varric's best attempts."

"Sweetheart, I knew who ya were before I stepped a foot in Kirkwall even if it took me a bit to recognize ya. There's no accountin' for his taste in cities or ale, but I gotta say... His taste in women is one thing he got spot on."

"You know I'm still not going to fuck you, right?" Hawke said with a smirk as she flicked two fingers at a passing serving wench and pointed at their empty bottle.

Denier lowered his eyebrows with mock severity. "I value my stones right where they are."

Hawke laughed and tried to prop her chin on her fist, but missed and punched herself in the cheek instead. Denier, bless him, pretended not to notice. "So he talks about me, huh? I thought you said you two weren't close."

"That was back when I thought ya were an assassin," Denier winked. "We get together and play cards a few times a month whenever he's not followin' ya around treasure huntin' and rescuin' damsels, or whatever it is the two of ya do."

"That's pretty much exactly what we do," Hawke said. "You play Wicked Grace?"

Denier grimaced. "Varric's been tryin' to teach me, but I'm nug shit at it. All those angels and templars and whatnot make it way more complicated than a game oughta be."

"Don't feel too bad. I haven't beat him once and I've probably been at it longer than you have."

"Diamondback, on the other hand. Now that's a real dwarf's game."

"Oh? You plan on making a real dwarf out of me?" Hawke said with a sloppy, flirtatious grin.

"Sorry, sister. Yer about two feet too tall and one beard short to qualify." Denier snorted a laugh into his tankard. Foam flecked his beard when he set it back down.

"Damn," Hawke sigh. She shrugged and raised her cup in a toast. "Here's to being pants at cards."

"Aye. Let's see if we can't change that streak of yers around."

Denier left to retrieve his card deck and Hawke lavishly tipped the server to make sure they had a steady supply of drinks as well as some food brought to the table. She tilted her chair on its back legs and nearly fell over backward when she overshot. She grabbed for the table before anyone saw. Her tolerance really had gone to shit after however many months without a stiff drink, but she had appearances to uphold and she'd be damned if she let a dwarf out drink her.

"I admit. I half thought you'd be gone by now," Denier said as he slipped back into his seat. "Places to go, people to see and all that. Ya seem to be a lady much sought after, Marian."

"Just Hawke, unless you really do want me to stab you," Hawke said. She dropped back down onto all four legs of her chair and waggled a finger at him. "I hope you're not trying to get rid of me yet."

"Wouldn't dream of it, Hawke."

Denier actually wasn't terrible company, despite how much Hawke wanted to hate him. He was funny and quick-witted and charming - all qualities that Hawke personally found attractive. If Varric hadn't shown up at the Blooming Rose after he'd turned her down all those months ago Hawke very well might have taken Denier for a test ride. He was broad around the chest and shoulders and muscular despite his rather relaxed profession. He had thick, strong hands and his mustache and beard were neatly braided. They probably would have felt intriguing on her inner thighs.

"Ya keep lookin' at me like that and I might have to insist we move this game upstairs."

A low rumble broke through Hawke's thoughts, and she belatedly realized she'd been staring.

"Sorry. I've been told I need to get my eyes checked," Hawke said with a flush when Denier raised an eyebrow. Maker, she was horny. Maybe she should take it easy on the drinks for a while.

"Uh huh," Denier said, shuffling the cards slowly with a little half smile. Thankfully, he didn't pursue the matter, instead delving right into the basics of Diamondback.

If Hawke had any hopes of being better at Diamondback than she was at Wicked Grace, that theory was quickly disproved. Fortunately, they were only playing for shots.  _Unfortunately_ , by the time they decided to call it quits she was far more sober than she wanted to be. Denier was still mostly upright, which was impressive considering he'd drank a bottle and a half of the potent mead by himself, plus however many ales they'd had in-between.

They ended up talking for the Maker only knew how long. She didn't know why she could spill her guts to perfect strangers, but choked up and ran away from the people who actually cared about her when conversations got a little too serious. The fact Hawke flung around her coin without regard was probably the only reason she hadn't either been kicked out or bawled out for monopolizing Denier when he was supposed to be working.

His dick could probably use a break anyway.

Denier matched her drink for drink without even blinking or nagging at her, which she liked. He was already much better than his cousin. Varric fussed at her incessantly and had been drinking far less lately despite having far more reason to be drunk than most. She hated that she couldn't go an hour without thinking or talking about him, though Denier didn't seem to mind.

"Know any good stories about Varric growing up?" Hawke asked, picking at her leftover mutton and red cabbage with fennel and radishes. She had packed away almost three servings all on her own over the course of the evening in hopes of sopping up some of the alcohol she'd drunk.

"Nah. His House had already been booted to the surface before he was born with his old man riggin' the Provings and all. Unfortunate business, that. Why d'ya ask?" Denier was hardly even slurring, but Hawke had to blink twice as much to make sure Denier didn't suddenly sprout a twin at his shoulder.

"I'm always on the lookout for blackmail material. He seems to know everything about me, but I can never find anything on him," Hawke said dismally as she twisted her tankard around and around on the table top, overlapping rings of condensation into nonsense patterns.

"Listen, Hawke. My cousin's a good guy. Bartrand, on the other hand, is a right piece of work, but Varric… Once he decides yer worth his time and effort, it takes a damn bit of work to convince him otherwise. And that is one dwarf anyone would kill to have in their corner."

"Why are you telling me this?" Hawke said. She lifted her cup and chugged down most of the remaining contents to cover up her sudden case of nerves. Of course she knew Varric was too good for her. She didn't need anyone, certainly not a brothel whore, to tell her that.

"He's gotten a lot of shit for helpin' me out of Orzammar - even from me directly. I might not know him as well as ya do, but even I can see he thinks the world of ya, lass. I just don't want to see him get hurt."

"Is this the 'break his heart and I'll break you' speech? I have to admit, you're not exactly who I pictured having this conversation with."

"He's so busy watchin' your incredibly well-shaped arse that he needs someone to watch his back, too. But even I'm not stupid enough to go up against the infamous Marian Hawke. All I can do is ask nicely."

"I think I prefer the threat," Hawke said, feeling sad and guilty. She didn't even have that much to drink, comparatively speaking, which may or may not have been the problem. "It's getting late. I think I should go—whoa." Hawke barely caught herself on the edge of the table when she stood up and the room abruptly went sideways.

"Perhaps a room for the night is in order?" Denier suggested from her elbow as he steadied her with a hand on her arm.

"Not into beards," Hawke slurred, borrowing the fib she'd used on Lusine the first time she pointed out Denier to her.

"And I'm not into beautiful women too drunk to stand. There we go, Hawke. Varric would kill me if I let anythin' happen to his lady."

Hawke didn't recall telling Denier that she and Varric were together, but he'd probably made an educated guess based on the way she couldn't shut up about him. The climb upstairs was a harrowing experience for both of them, but Denier dumped her on a bed that, thankfully, didn't see hourly use and tugged off her boots with a grunt. She didn't know what he did after that, but he was nowhere to be found when she woke fully clothed and with her coin purse still intact.

She had a headache, but it was nothing a plate of greasy eggs and a shot of Aqua Magus couldn't cure. She settled her tab with Madame Lusine afterward and had to fight not to blanch at the obscene amount of coin that exchanged hands. She may as well have fucked Denier for how much a conversation with him had cost once the drinks, dinner, and room were added up. She wasn't ready to go home and break the news to Leandra yet, but with her coin purse severely lightened she didn't have much reason to hang around Hightown.

She decided a trip to the Alienage to visit Merrill was in order.

The Alienage was as crowded and filthy and depressing as it always was, and seemed to fit Hawke's mood perfectly. She thought she'd been holding it together relatively well, but the second she saw Merrill's bright, inquisitive face when she opened the door Hawke burst into tears.

"Hawke! Oh! Oh dear," Merrill said, hands fluttering like pale birds when Hawke rushed forward to hug her and snot onto her shoulder. Merrill's hands finally settled and patted her back awkwardly. "There, there, Hawke. That is very damp, isn't it? Would you like to come in for some tea?"

"Yes. Sorry," Hawke said, letting go of poor Merrill to wipe beneath her nose with her forearm. "Sorry. I don't what came over me."

"You don't have to apologize,  _lethallan_. If you had come a half-hour sooner you would have seen me weeping over a wee mouse family I found in my cupboard."

"I hope you killed it."

"Oh, no. They looked cold so I gave them a scarf for their nest. They're nice and cozy now. Much happier, I think."

"Merrill..."

"I'll get your tea! Please make yourself at home. If you can find somewhere to sit."

"You actually have tea?" Hawke asked. She blinked down at her mug in wonder when it appeared in her hands several minutes later. Having a mage around meant one generally didn't have to wait for a kettle to heat up. Hawke's lower lip wobbled when she thought of all the cold tea in her future.

"Your sister was very kind and brought me her favorite blend. She would visit me sometimes when you were away. I'm glad you're back! Have I said that? I should have said that first. Oh no. You're crying again."

Hawke barely managed to set the mug down with a clatter before she spilled scalding tea all over herself. She didn't have a handkerchief on her, but the mucous flooding her sinus passage meant that she wouldn't have to breathe in the fragrant scent of marigold, lemon, and apricot. Liquid sunshine in a cup.

"I'm sorry. I've said something wrong, haven't I?" Merrill fretted.

"Templars took Bethany!" Hawke blubbered, sounding very much like her mother had.

"I'm very sorry, Hawke." Merrill's face fell, but she didn't seem surprised. Of course she wouldn't be. She'd had a month to get used to the idea of Bethany being gone. "I'd be terrified in her shoes surrounded by strangers watched all the time. She's a sweet girl. I would never wish that fate on anyone."

"She always did love being constantly watched by large, armed men."

"She did? I would never have imagined- Oh," Merrill said, belatedly picking up on Hawke's sarcasm. "She's strong. If anyone could get through this, she can. Don't blame yourself."

"Someone's got to blame me. Other than my mother, I mean."

"I'm sure your mother doesn't blame you. Things will be all right. Would you like me to braid your hair?"

"I-What?" Hawke said, thrown by the abrupt subject change. "What?"

"Keeper Marethari used to braid my hair when I was sad or upset," Merrill said, fingering one of the braids in her short, black hair. "It always made me feel better. I try and do it myself, but it's not quite the same. Maybe it only works when someone else does it?"

Hawke had every intention of turning her down, but the hopeful and nostalgic look on Merrill's face would forever be Hawke's downfall. "Fine. But you'd better not make me look like an idiot."

"I'll do my best. To not make you look foolish, I mean. Not that you ever could. We have very similar hair so it should be easy, right? I've never seen the back of my head before, so maybe it will be different. Oh, what if I mess it up?"

"Merrill."

"Yes, Hawke?"

"Are you braiding my hair or what?"

"Yes! If you don't mind a bit of dirt, you can sit on the floor and I'll stand behind you. You're very tall for a human. I suppose you'd be tall for an elf, but Fenris is very tall, too. Definitely tall for a dwarf then."

Hawke sat on the floor and let Merrill's chatter drone in the back of her mind as she worked on combing out Hawke's hair and separating strands into sections to weave together. Merrill's gentle grooming was unexpectedly comforting. Hawke had never been any good at doing her own hair. She didn't have Bethany's soft, shiny waves and thought nothing of it when she hacked off all her hair several years ago after she'd gotten sap stuck in it from climbing trees. Bethany had been white with horror when Hawke had trudged home, scraped up and filthy and hair significantly shorter. Carver accused her of trying to look like him, Father had laughed until he cried, and Mother had cried as well, but she didn't find it nearly as funny.

With her flat chest and long legs, Hawke had been mistaken for Carver's twin brother for  _ages_. That had pissed him off to no end. It probably didn't help that Hawke would get up to mischief in whatever town or village they were staying in and Carver would inevitably get the blame. It was worse when the girls Carver liked paid more attention to Hawke than to him which hadn't changed even when Hawke sprouted breasts and grew into her limbs. He never did figure out how off-putting his bad attitude and sour mug was to the opposite sex so, really, Hawke couldn't be entirely blamed for his bad luck with women.

Hawke tried to look at her reflection in Merrill's creepy mirror when she was done, but she couldn't even see her outline when she pressed her nose against the glass and squinted. The surface remained stubbornly hazy and grey. The glass was cracked, but mirrors generally didn't stop functioning after a little break.

"Something seems...off about your mirror. Shouldn't it reflect the room?" Hawke asked.

"No. It's not that sort of mirror. It's magic! Or it will be. I've spent the last few years restoring this. One of my clan found it in the Brecilian Forest, we think. Poor Tamlen. We never found him. Just the shattered pieces of the eluvian."

"Tell me you didn't bring the killer mirror to Kirkwall just because it's pretty," Hawke said, backing away from the mirror, the eluvian, so quickly she nearly fell.

"It's not dangerous, I promise! I fixed it. Or tried to. With blood magic. The mirror won't hurt anyone."

"'I fixed it with blood magic' isn't as reassuring as you think it is, Merrill."

"But...it doesn't work. I've tried everything, and I think it's because it needs to be finished with a special tool. An arulin'holm. And my clan has one. It's been in their hands for generations."

"What's the catch?"

"The Keeper... I can't talk to her. We fight or talk circles around each other. She has a disappointed frown that turns your bones to jelly! Please help me? You will, won't you?"

"I may as well. It's probably not a good idea for any mage, especially a blood mage, to be in the city right now. I'm just glad you weren't taken along with Bethany."

" _Ma serannas_ , Hawke! I truly am sorry about Bethany. I wrote to you and Varric after it happened...but you wouldn't have gotten a letter in the Deep Roads," Merrill said to herself in chastisement. "Varric wrote back and said you were recovering and it was probably best if we didn't bring you more bad news. I see you received the kaddis!" Merrill said, pointing at her own nose. "I'm sorry for the stain. I couldn't figure out how to make it not do that without causing your eyes to swell shut-"

"Varric  _knew_?" Hawke said, cutting her off. "He knew for a week Bethany was in the Circle and didn't say anything?"

"O-Oh," Merrill said, twisting her fingers together. "I'm sure he meant to tell you? It could have slipped his mind, but I can see how you would be upset."

" _Upset_?" Upset didn't even begin to cover it.

Hawke was incandescent with rage. She felt like that one time Isabela had dared her to eat an entire Antivan fire pepper. It was one of the main ingredients for their explosive grenades and Hawke's tongue, throat, and stomach felt like they'd been boiled with acid for days afterward. If she could see herself in Merrill's mirror she was certain smoke would be coming out of her ears.

"He had no right to keep that from me!" Hawke raged, pacing the small area of Merrill's sitting room and sending a mouse scurrying underfoot. "You know what? I don't care. I'm sick of men right now. I need to kill something."

"Aveline mentioned an increase in raider activity near Sundermount?" Merrill suggested helpfully. "I mean since we'll be up there any way…"

"Perfect. Why don't you find Isabela and I'll grab Aveline and we'll meet you there?" Hawke said. She didn't even wait for Merrill's agreement before she turned and stormed out of the apartment, bloodlust rushing in her ears.

A girls' night out was just the thing she needed.

* * *

 

Hawke wished she had a way of teleporting from Lowtown to Hightown, or a horse, but she was good at finding shortcuts even if those shortcuts meant leaving a trail of bodies from muggers and gang members behind her. She found Aveline in the barracks at the Viscount's Keep reviewing patrol assignments pinned to the wall. Unlike Merrill, Hawke had no urge to burst into tears when she saw Aveline's familiar head of bright red hair and her husband Wesley's dinged-up shield with the templar's emblem she'd been carting around since he'd died.

"Aveline!" Hawke exclaimed, pasting on a grin and opening her arms wide as if expecting an embrace.

"Hello, Hawke," Aveline said without looking at her.

"Been a while. Hasn't it?" Hawke said into the awkward silence that followed. She slowly lowered her arms.

"What?" Aveline said, finally turning around. "Oh, right. Sorry, it feels like we just talked. I've been keeping an eye on you. Information is one of the few perks of this job. I'd be careful going into the Blooming Rose if I were you. I've had to rearrange the roster three times this week to account for guards who are out with 'mysterious rashes'."

"You know I don't like it when you have people watch me," Hawke said. She tried to remember if she'd seen any of Aveline's men at the Rose last night, but she'd been too drunk to notice anything past her nose. Or, well, past Denier's rather generously-sized nose.

"Saved me camping on your doorstep. After what we went through to get here... I'm sorry about Bethany."

"Right. Don't remind me," Hawke said, rubbing her temples. "Thanks for the cupcake, by the way. It was cute. The sun was a nice touch."

"Well...you're no child, but I take care of my friends," Aveline said with a soft smile that transformed her severe features.

Hawke did a double-take, as she always did when she realized how pretty Aveline was when she wasn't barking out orders or disapproving of everything Hawke did. With her red hair, green eyes, and freckles Hawke sometimes had a hard time not thinking about Millie, especially when she caught sight of Aveline out of the corner of her eye.

Hawke cleared her throat and scuffed her boot against the floor. "Merrill mentioned you might have a job?"

"There's something big coming up and I could use your help," Aveline said without asking if Hawke was recovered enough to fight, which she appreciated. "An ambush. Probably for a caravan, although I can't find any shipments that match up. Doesn't matter, though. Highwaymen waiting for someone to rob? I'm putting a stop to it, my district or not."

"Say no more. Aveline, you've got yourself a partner."

"I knew I could count on you, Hawke. They're hidden up Sundermount. Remote and rough, but we can make good time with a shortcut this side."

"I love shortcuts," Hawke said with a grin.

"I can see that..." Aveline said, eyeing the blood splattered on Hawke's face and leathers. "Remember that we are trying to keep a low profile, Hawke. No use tipping the raiders off before we get to the ambush site."

"Maker forbid we don't give them a chance to pop out and yell 'surprise'!"

"You're acting on behalf of the guard. Please try and remember that," Aveline said, already knowing Hawke would do no such thing.

They grabbed packs from the barrack's supply closet and met Merrill and Isabela on the way up to Sundermount. Isabela didn't yell "surprise" first, but she did jump on Hawke's back and knock her to the ground.

"Hawke! I've missed you, sweet thing! Wicked Grace nights just haven't been the same without you and Varric," Isabela said far too loudly and far too gleefully in Hawke's ear. "Say, did you do something new with your hair? I like it."

Hawke didn't even try to get up, resigned to having a pirate wench writhe on top of her with Merrill and Aveline watching.

"Have you lost weight? You're nothing but pokey bits," Isabela said with a frown in her voice as she let Hawke at least lift her face up from the ground.

"That would be the daggers you gave me," Hawke said, spitting out dirt. "Isabela. Meet Naughty and Nice. Daggers, meet the most recent pain in my ass."

"I'll show  _you_  a pain in your ass," Isabela purred with a lewd motion of her hips that caused Merrill's hands to fly up to her mouth to cover a giggle and Aveline to make a sound of disgust before she shoved Isabela off Hawke with her boot.

"Enough, Isabela. There might be some stragglers before the main group. We don't need you drawing attention to us."

"Do men find you intimidating?" Isabela asked as she rolled to her feet and helped Hawke up before brushing herself off carelessly. "What about Wesley? Did he?"

"Isabela..." Aveline said warningly.

"What? Too soon?"

"Too soon, too personal, too...everything coming from you!"

"Ohh. Sore spot?"

"If you don't shut up, I'll give you a sore spot."

"Archer up ahead!" Merrill said, unhooking her staff and summoning rock armor right as an arrow whizzed past. She sent a stone fist right back, and the battle was on.

"On your guard!" Aveline shouted, sword and shield in hand.

Hawke and Isabela ran ahead with their twin daggers. They split apart as another arrow flew between them, leaving the way clear for Aveline to charge straight through the middle.

Hawke had to refamiliarize herself with their fighting styles. She was unused to the empty space where Anders' barriers would be, or the sound of Bianca firing and reloading, or the flash of Fenris' lyrium brands. Isabela was ferociously fast, darting in and striking critical blows before disappearing and reappearing somewhere else. Aveline was slower and took more direct hits, but her shield and armor were designed to take the impact. She gave no quarter and startled Hawke more than a few times with her jarring battle yells.

Hawke flinched as Merrill's chain of lightning struck close by. The forks of electricity jumped from one armed soldier to the next but somehow managed to avoid Aveline right in the center of the skirmish. Hawke had to trust Merrill's control was good enough not to hit them with friendly fire and focused on gifting their opponents with new ventilation holes. There were only three attackers in all, which meant Hawke only managed to get a few jabs in before the fight was over.

"Is that all?" Hawke said disappointedly to the bodies. She gave one of them a nudge with her boot, but it didn't even elicit a groan - save from Aveline.

"I doubt it. Don't get complacent," she said warningly.

"Never."

There were plenty of raiders up ahead and several more appeared from behind in an attempt to cage them in. Hawke quickly regretted not bringing Snowflake along to cover their blind spots. He could always use the exercise and he  _loved_  eating raiders. They tended to have less armor than templars and weren't tough-skinned like Qunari who also painted themselves with poisonous vitaar. She would have to apologize for yelling at Snowflake, but for now all she could do was fight and show these raiders no mercy.

They tried to keep a more inconspicuous profile after they finished off the latest batch of raiders and continued up the pass, hoping to get the drop on them first for a change.

"We're close to the ambush, Hawke. Be ready," Aveline murmured, keeping her voice and position low.

Hawke crept on ahead and climbed up a hill to see a group of raiders conversing, but they were too far away for her to hear what they were saying. Varric could have put a bolt into two or three of them before anyone knew they were there. Hawke came back down and held up five fingers before gesturing in the direction up ahead. She considered a few different plans of attack before dismissing all of them and impatiently running ahead in full view of the raiders.

"Hawke! Trap!" Isabela shouted.

Hawke skidded to a stop right before a line of evenly placed lumps in the dirt that very well might have blown her legs off if she'd kept going. Hawke hesitated, wondering if she should jump over the landmines or wait for Isabela to disarm them first. The raiders were nearly upon her by the time she glanced back up.

"Oh, no you don't," Isabela murmured. She knelt down to deactivate the triggers before leaping backward in a neat flip while impaling a man in the eye with one of her throwing knives.

Hawke couldn't have managed that trick even if she wasn't nursing a mild hangover and a bucket full of rage and resentment at the world in general. Hawke moved away from the mounds and let the raiders come to her instead. Let them blow their legs off. Archers appeared in the distance and Merrill directed her attacks at them automatically. Even if Hawke hadn't fought alongside her lady friends in awhile, they clearly hadn't been idle while she was away. Aveline could have done just as well without her help, but it was nice of her to include Hawke anyway for all the good she was.

If Hawke had been feeling a little less sorry for herself, she would have noticed the raider swinging an enormous double-bladed axe toward her sooner. The assassin she'd been engaged with leaped away at the last second and left Hawke exposed to the attack. The curved blade sliced her thigh open and she fell backward with a shout. The fall probably saved her from needing a pegged leg in the future. She'd have no choice but to join Isabela's crew to complete her collection of pirate clichés. Isabela already had One-Eyed Hank, who wore an obligatory eye patch, and Tim or Tom who had a hook in place of a hand.

The raider lifted the axe to swing again, but a blast of rock smashed into his face and broke his neck. The axe and his body made the same sound as they both hit the ground next to Hawke.

"Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck," Hawke hissed, dragging herself out of the way while Aveline, Merrill, and Isabela dispatched the rest of the raiders. Hawke slumped against a boulder when she could go no further and looked back at the garish red trail she'd left behind.

That was a worrying amount of blood.

"That looks bad, Hawke," Isabela said as she stood over Hawke with her hands on her hips. She seemed impressed by the amount of blood Hawke was currently gushing out, but that was nothing compared to the scattering of corpses behind her turning the dirt into crimson mud. "I've seen men die from lesser wounds."

"And how is that helping me now?" Hawke said through her teeth as she squeezed down hard on her thigh over the wound. Hot blood spurted out between her fingers. "Where's a healer when I need one?"

Hawke didn't know what to do without Varric there to overreact and demand that Anders heal her. Anders wouldn't stand around gawking at her like an exhibit in the first place. Anders would have fixed her by now.

"I can tell the blood to stay inside, but I'm afraid I don't know any healing spells," Merrill said, coming over to observe Hawke's inevitable demise as well.

She dug the butt of her staff into the ground and leaned against it as she waited for Hawke's permission to use blood magic on her. It should've gone without saying in certain circumstances, but seeing as how Merrill was a  _good_  blood mage, she'd gotten into her head that she needed to acquire consent first. Never mind that Hawke was bleeding out as they spoke. No one seemed as concerned as she thought they should be.

"You should've moved out of the way quicker, Hawke," Aveline said, completing their little threesome of helpfulness.

"Thank you for that stunning insight, Aveline. Merrill, please stop the bleeding. Does anyone have an injury kit? Or alcohol? Preferably alcohol."

"That I do have," Isabela said. Where she kept a flask when she didn't even wear pants, Hawke would never know. And never  _want_  to know. "But you'll have to sew yourself up, Hawke. Open wounds are a personal turn off. They look like bleeding vaginas."

Isabela stabbed people for a living. The least she could do was make sure Hawke didn't pass out before she could sew herself up. Hawke was missing her Deep Roads crew more and more by the minute. Even cranky, broody Fenris.

"Yes. Quite.  _Thank you_ ," Hawke said, snatching the flask out of her hand and pouring what turned out to be red wine over her hands and thigh. It made everything look even more like the scene of a massacre and didn't help her to see the edges of the wound any easier. Great. She was going to die in the most idiotic way ever and Varric wasn't even there to tell her "I told you so."

"I'll go keep watch," Aveline said. "Merrill, please make sure she doesn't bleed out or Varric will have my head."

"I won't! I mean, I will! I mean, her blood is safe with me. Or, well, you know what I mean."

"Focus, kitten," Isabela reprimanded gently, She traded Hawke her flask for an injury kit as Merrill isolated the injury and kept the scant remainder of Hawke's blood inside her body.

Hawke swallowed a healing potion and wished she'd saved some of the wine. She braced herself and bit back a curse as she forced the curved, pre-threaded needle through several layers of skin and lean muscle. Her hand was shaking by the time she tied off the first sloppy stitch and began the next through sheer force of will. She would need at least seven stitches in all. She contemplated whether or not it would be less painful to bleed to death instead.

Her thigh twitched and spasmed with every puncture and Hawke was hunched over and gasping by the time she finished the last agonizing stitch. The row was sloppy and uneven, and she would scar for sure, but it would hold. The pain was unbelievable and she felt like someone truly spiteful had ground Antivan fire peppers into the wound. Fuck. She would probably have to suck it up and go crawling back to Anders after all.

"The road is clear, but I don't think I can carry you, Hawke," Aveline said reluctantly when Hawke tried and failed to stand on her own.

"We made a sled last time," Isabela said. "I'm sure you can manage, big girl. You're the closest thing we have to a bitch since Snowflake isn't here to pull it."

"Watch it, whore, before I break both your legs and leave you here."

"We're close to my clan," Merrill piped up. "I could run and get Keeper Marethari to heal Hawke. If you think your blood will hold?"

"I'm fine," Hawke lied. "Go."

"Someone should go with her to make sure there really aren't any more raiders lurking in the bushes," Isabela said as she watched Merrill's retreating back.

"Say what you really mean, Isabela," Aveline said, crossing her arms over her chest with a glower. "Hawke gets hurt and you take the first opportunity to run away? Typical."

"You heard her. She's fine. I can do more good making sure Merrill and the healer get here unmolested than hovering uselessly over Hawke."

"If anyone would be doing the molesting, it'll be you," Aveline said with a sigh that meant Isabela had a point, but she would go through pain of torture before ever admitting as much. "Fine. Be quick. And make sure that healer gets here one way or another."

"Yes, ma'am," Isabela said with a saucy wink. "Hawke, pet. Don't die."

"I don't plan on it," Hawke grunted, but the second Isabela was out of earshot she implored Aveline, "Kill me now. Please."

She almost would have preferred stepping on one of the mines. The explosion might have killed her instantly as opposed to this slow torture. There was no way she'd be able to take moving or the jostle of a sled while she was still conscious. She hoped Merrill returned quickly. Hawke must have passed out against the rock she was leaning against. She woke up to Aveline shaking her awake which was the cruelest thing anyone had ever done to her. The throbbing in her leg had only intensified and was consuming her entire left side now.

"They're back," Aveline said before Hawke could swear at her.

"Hello again...Keeper..." Hawke slurred when she saw a white head of hair framed by two much darker heads. She was still upright only because of the rock and Aveline's hand on her shoulder. "Don't you look...l-lovely."

"My apologies for the delay, Hawke. I came as fast as I could," Marethari, the Dalish Keeper of Merrill's clan, said as she knelt next to Hawke's side and hovered her hands over her thigh. "May I?"

She must have been who Merrill had gotten her manners from in life or death situations.

"Please."

Marethari's healing magic was nearly white compared to Anders' bluer tones that could be due to Justice's influence. Hawke honestly didn't care what color it was as long as the spell did its job. She watched as her flesh knitted back together and puckered around the amateurish stitches. When the wound sealed itself into a jagged, pink scar Marethari plucked out the stitches with quick, nimble fingers and healed the holes left behind. Hawke grimaced at the sensation of thread sliding through her skin, but when Marethari was done she could stand mostly on her own. She used Aveline's arm as support until the wooziness from blood loss settled.

"Thanks. You're a lifesaver," Hawke said, rubbing a hand over her newly healed limb and fingering her ruined leathers. Dammit, those were  _new_.

"You are very welcome, child. Be welcome among the Dalish," Marethari said before she fixed her pale eyes on Merrill. "You return to us,  _da'len_. Have you reconsidered this path at last?"

If Hawke's memory served her, Marethari had more than a few opinions about Merrill's use of blood magic and making deals with demons to restore that mirror of hers. Hawke had a few opinions herself, but none of them strong enough to intervene.

"Keeper. I need the arulin'holm, the ancient carving blade that Master Ilen keeps," Merrill said without any regard for etiquette or small talk.

Even Hawke knew to lead in before demanding favors.

"I see. You wish to rebuild the eluvian."

"You don't have to approve of it. I'm invoking  _vir sulevanan._  I'll do whatever task you wish."

Marethari's tattooed brow ridge furrowed. "Well. I'm glad to know I can still disapprove. It is your right. I will give you a service to perform, if you insist."

"Care to clarify for the humans?" Hawke asked.

"We are what we are, child. But I'll try to speak more of the common tongue. A varterral-" a mush of rolling consonants that sounded especially elfy to Hawke, "-has taken the lives of three of our hunters. It lairs in a cavern in the mountainside. Seek it out... Slay it. No one else must fall to its anger. Do this for us, and I will give you the arulin'holm. May the Dread Wolf never catch your scent."

"We appreciate your help," Hawke said, fighting the urge to bow to Marethari. She simply had that presence about her. "I'll be glad to help Merrill however I can."

"Thank you, Hawke," Merrill said, sounding touched.

"I'm glad that Merrill has a friend in you, child. I hope you will look after her."

Marethari spoke as if she was giving away Merrill's hand in marriage. If Hawke had any blood left in her body, she might have blushed. Marethari was a woman who spoke in many layers at once and it was unnerving. No wonder she drove Merrill batshit. She was so  _kind_  even when she was chastising her or radiating disappointment.

"I can take care of myself, Keeper," Merrill said, like a child promising not to burn her fingers playing with fire for the first time. Hawke hoped she didn't burn down the entire mountainside agreeing to go along with this mysterious quest.

"Yes,  _da'len_. I know," Marethari said, like a mother at her wit's end, but willing to let her child experience pain to learn a bigger lesson.

Trying to decipher elf speak was giving her a headache. Marethari welcomed them into the camp, but the rest of the Dalish clan didn't appear so eager to have outsiders poking about. The clearing was spotted with elves, campfires, and what appeared to be miniature ships with wheels and bright red sails. The Dalish must use the land ships to sleep in as well as travel since she saw no tents. Isabela eyed the ships and made a throaty sound of desire.

"Screw seas ships, I want one of those!"

"Watch your step,  _shem_. You don't know how many Dalish arrows are trained on you right now." An elven hunter nearby practically spat at their feet as Hawke's group passed, making no secret of his disdain for outsiders. Even Merrill was on the receiving end of more than a few glares.

"Everyone is staring at me. Let's get this over with," Merrill said nervously.

"I feel like there's a different law at work in this place. Someone else's rules," Aveline said as she gazed around the Dalish camp with an air of distrust. "I suggest we don't linger long."

"Where's your sense of adventure, big girl? Leave them back at the barracks with your boring and practical knickers?" Isabela said.

"My underthings are no business of yours, Isabela."

"Nor anyone else's, I would guess. You do know you can die from sexual frustration, right? I am only looking out for your well-being."

Hawke tugged on Merrill's wrist and they quietly snuck away before Aveline and Isabela's bickering escalated. They were almost worst than Fenris and Anders. The incessant arguing was something she did not miss about either pair. She located Master Ilen, the Dalish crafter and merchant, who could either be helpful or crotchety depending on how charitable he was feeling toward  _shems_  that day.

"Is there something you need?" Master Ilen asked when Hawke and Merrill approached, sounding pleasant enough.

"Do you sell the ink you Dalish use for tattooing?" Hawke asked.

Master's Ilen's polite demeanor immediately turned hostile. "How dare you! That ink is sacred! We would no sooner sell it to  _shem_  than we would sell our own children!"

"It's a good thing I'm not looking to adopt then," Hawke shot back, but Merrill tugged on her arm before Hawke could force the issue. "Great. I suppose it's too much to hope for that you know how to make the ink, Merrill?"

"The Keeper was in the process of training me on the ritual for when an elf gets their  _vallaslin_  before I left. I don't know how the ink itself is made except that it's mixed with our own blood. I'm sorry, Hawke."

"Always comes back to blood magic, doesn't it?" Hawke sighed.

"Ah hem!"

Hawke turned away from Master Ilen's stall while Merrill presumably made apologies on her behalf. She followed the sound of Isabela clearing her throat over to the Dalish land ships. Isabela's throat clearing turned into overdone coughing when Hawke got close enough. She grimaced and held her arm up as a shield just in case.

"Frog in your throat?" Hawke asked.

The campfires weren't emitting that much smoke and she didn't want to catch whatever seemed to be ailing Isabela. The elves around them sneered but made themselves scarce. Isabela raised her eyebrows meaningfully and kept coughing, which covered up the sound of her kicking open the lock to a chest tucked away between the land ships. Hawke raised her own eyebrows back but crouched down to inspect Isabela's find.

"Ah ha," Hawke said when she saw a bottle of rust-colored ink. She startled when Isabela gave her a swift kick in the rump. "I mean. Cough. Cough."

She wrapped the bottle in a cloth and placed the bundle in her satchel as she pretended to cough into her fist to hide her grin. "Goodness! I hope this isn't catching. We should probably get going before we infect anyone else."

"I couldn't agree more, sweet thing," Isabela said and followed up with a snotty-sounding sneeze that nearly gave them away when Hawke couldn't hold back her laughter and barely remembered to turn it into a coughing fit instead.

"What are you two up to?" Aveline said suspiciously when they collected her and Merrill and rushed them away from the campsite. Hawke's leg twinged, but she didn't want to risk staying any longer in the Dalish camp than necessary, especially while in the possession of contraband.

"I think I'm allergic to self-righteous asshats," Hawke said with one last glance at the elves that gathered at the base of the mountainside and watched them go with equally unfriendly expressions. Some of them were even holding weapons, but fortunately none were turned upon them. Yet.

"Then you'd better not walk downwind of Aveline," Isabela grinned. "I forgot to bring my spare handkerchief."

"You're wearing it, Isabela," Aveline said.

Isabela pretended to be surprised and looked down at the scrap of cloth she called a dress consideringly. "I'd been wondering where it'd gotten off to! I thought I'd lost it at… Oh. Never mind."

"At Fenris'?" Hawke filled in slyly. "That reminds me. You owe me five sovereigns, Aveline. Varric and I caught them fucking. Well, heard them anyway."

"You should have joined us!" Isabela scolded, and then her face went soft and dreamy. " _Both_  of you. Mm…"

"Oh! Were you kissing in a tree, too?" Merrill said.

"I'm sure Isabela climbed Fenris like one," Hawke snickered. "I need details, Bela! Does he really do that magical fisting thing?"

"I don't want to know," Aveline said loudly, tossing her a coin purse at Hawke without even counting the contents.

"I want to know!" Merrill said. She somehow managed to sound innocent even while requesting sordid sexual details.

"Did I mention I got Anders to do the electricity thing?" Hawke said with not nearly the same amount of convincing innocence.

"Details!" Isabela and Merrill cried in unison.

Hawke and Isabela cackled and knocked their fists together when Aveline groaned and walked faster in an effort to escape the direction their conversation was going. She'd have to run pretty far, but lucky for her Hawke had a newly healed leg and fresh incentive to keep up.

They had so much catching up to do, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fun Fact: There are Dragon Age based tea blends online here: [Link.](http://www.adagio.com/signature_blend/fandoms.html?set=Dragon%20Age)
> 
> I have it on very good authority (*coughRosecough*) they are absolutely delightful! I borrowed the Amell blend for Bethany's tea.


	14. Chapter 14

"The varterral is supposed to be a guardian for the Dalish. I don't know why it's attacking, but the cave must be near camp. The Keeper would just warn the hunters away, otherwise," Merrill said as the group made their way up the mountain pass near the Dalish camp.

"But not us!" Hawke said with an ironic grin. "Let's hope your clanmates don't come searching for the thing too and decide to take some shots at the  _shems_  while they're at it. Sol wants me to bring him back the varterral's heart. Hopefully, it's not too much trouble or I'm charging him double."

"I've never seen one myself, but our hunters are very good. If it's already killed three then we should be very cautious," Merrill said.

"I'm with Merrill on this one, Hawke," Isabela said. "I love crawling through caves as much as the next pirate, but I've seen the Dalish fight before. Anything that gives their hunters trouble is slightly worrying."

"Does anyone think this is a good idea?" Hawke asked.

"No," Aveline said.

"Not even a little," Isabela said.

"It'll be very dangerous. I understand if you don't want to come," Merrill said, wilting. "It is my task, and I-"

"Oh, blah blah blah. Of course we'll help you, kitten," Isabela said, slinging her arm over Merrill's shoulders and giving her a tight squeeze. "Someone has to complain since Hawke didn't bring her dwarfy boyfriend along."

"He's your friend, too, Isabela," Hawke pointed out.

"Yes, and I clearly have terrible taste in friends."

"As do I," Aveline sighed.

Hawke knew Aveline secretly loved them. She wouldn't have stuck around so long or gone along with half of Hawke's bad ideas. The walk was practically picturesque and Hawke was woozy from breathing in deep lungfuls of clean, fresh air. As long as she kept moving her leg didn't bother her too much, but her calves and thighs protested the uphill climb in general. Varric would have hated it. He was every inch the city dwarf and made no secret about his distaste for inclines, fresh air, and green things in general. She was tempted to borrow Merrill's staff to use as a walking stick, but then skeletons started popping out of the ground. Merrill swept her staff around to slam them with bolts of lightning, causing Hawke's hair to stand on end as she pulled out her own weapons.

"All hands on deck!" Isabela shouted cheerfully.

"Aye, Captain!" Merrill and Hawke answered.

"She's not even a real captain!" Aveline protested as she drew her sword and shattered the ribcage of one of the skeletons in a whirling spin with her shield.

"Ohh, someone's got their knickers in a twist," Isabela taunted, parrying a skeleton's old, rusted sword before stomping on its exposed thigh bone and snapping it in two.

Hawke winced and felt a sympathetic twinge in her own leg as she shattered another skeleton's spine with Naughty. Or maybe it was Nice? She'd made their names up on the spot while threatening Gary and didn't actually know which dagger was which. Cracking skulls and breaking bones felt very nice either way.

They put the skeletons back to bed and remained vigilant against further surprises as they approached the mouth of the varterral's cave. There was a dull roar that emanated from the unknown depths that sounded like the sea. Hawke really hoped the sound was the cave's natural ambiance and not the varterral itself. Her hope faded when their makeshift torches and Merrill's wisps illuminated what had to be dozens, if not hundreds of skeletons and corpses decorating the cave floor. Hawke was unable to take a step without hearing the dry, brittle snap of bone or the occasional  _squish_  that made her twice as determined not to look down.

"Is this a burial ground?" Hawke whispered.

"These are elf bodies," Merrill said with a shaky tremor in her voice. "We give our dead back to the earth, but they have been left to lie here for such a long time. Too long. This isn't right."

"Let's focus on killing this thing first and then we'll see that your people get a proper burial," Hawke said gently, taking better care to watch where she stepped.

Privately, Hawke didn't think there were enough shovels in the world. From what Merrill had told her, her clan hadn't been in Kirkwall very long. Some of the bodies were ancient. Their armor was at least a century out of style, if not older, and their weapons rusted. She wondered if there had been a battle fought here at one point. She hoped whatever had killed all these people was gone and something worse hadn't taken its place.

Hawke didn't realize she'd gotten slightly ahead of the others until three giant spiders dropped down from overhead and surrounded her in a circle. They had bulbous bodies and thick, hairy legs and stood taller than Hawke when they reared up and clicked their lethal fangs, dripping with venom.

"Holy shit!" Hawke shrieked, grabbing her daggers and lashing out in a frenzy.

All of Hawke's training went out the metaphorical window as she slashed wildly at anything that came close. The fully rational phobia took hold of all her senses. Her attacks were so erratic that Aveline or Isabela couldn't get near without risking being hit as well. Hawke barely noticed when Merrill hit the spider closest to her with lightning right before she stabbed her dagger into its carapace.

The next thing Hawke knew she was on her back, blinking up at the cave ceiling with her ears ringing. She lifted her aching right hand and saw the electricity rune had been blown out, the metal blackened and the leather melted. Thankfully, her fingers hadn't fused to the hilt, but the dagger was ruined. Hawke let her arm fall back to the ground and belatedly realized she was covered in a horrific-smelling slime. She was so revolted that she actually considered letting the other spiders eat her until Isabela's face appeared over hers. Her wide grin looked like a painful grimace from upside down.

"That was brilliant, Hawke! You blew them all up! You blew yourself up, too, but you should've seen the way they went  _splat_! It was glorious!"

"I'm covered in spider goo, Isabela," Hawke said, not nearly as impressed as Isabela thought she should be.

"Don't think I'll be kissing you anytime soon, sweet thing."

Hawke rolled over and made a grab for Isabela's ankle, but she danced away with a laugh before she went searching for anything to loot. Hawke groaned and pushed herself up to survey the damage. She honestly didn't know how she'd managed to stay alive this long.

The spiders had practically disintegrated, leaving no traces except for greenish slime, charred streaks on the ground, and a long, spindly leg here and there. Aveline had apparently been caught in the blast as well. She was attempting to scrape slime off her shield and out of her hair with the most hilarious expression of disgust Hawke had ever seen. She would have laughed if she hadn't been in the same predicament, but worse since she'd taken the full brunt of the explosion. Merrill, at least, came over to check on her.

"Radha... Falon'Din guide you,  _lethallin_."

"Uh... I hope you're not saying Dalish funeral rites over me yet, Merrill," Hawke said.

"Not you," Merrill said sadly.

Hawke finally noticed the body, or one of the bodies, lying next to her when Merrill knelt. The man looked fresher than the others. The armor, pointed ears, and tattooed face marked him as someone from Merrill's clan. Merrill reached down and unclasped a pendant from around his neck, face drawn with grief.

"We should give this clan amulet to the Keeper. Radha's family should know he died bravely."

Hawke's hand went to her own throat, but it was bare. She'd never worn the necklace Varric had given her and she'd left Ketojan's pendant behind before she went into the Deep Roads. She didn't wear much jewelry, but Hawke could tell Radha's amulet had meaning. Hawke reached out to place a hand on Merrill's shoulder and gave her what she hoped was a comforting squeeze, until she remembered she was covered in spider slime.

Merrill, thankfully, didn't seem to notice.

"What were the hunters doing in here?" Hawke asked.

"The Keeper would have sent them to recover elven artifacts from the varterral before the camp had to move again."

"So your Keeper sent them to their deaths?"

"No," Merrill said vehemently, shifting so Hawke's hand fell away from her shoulder. She didn't even glance at the streak of goo left behind on her armor. "Normally varterral will let the Dalish come and go as we please. Something must have provoked it!"

"It'll be just our luck if we end up pissing it off more..."

"Are you two going to sit there all day or are you coming?" Aveline asked, mostly clean now save for a bit of slime stuck in her hair next to her ear. Hawke valued her life too much to point it out to her.

"Coming!" Hawke said, snagging Merrill's hand and helping her up.

"Where have I heard that before?" Isabela said with a salacious grin.

"Who're you kidding? You've heard me come plenty of times."

"Yes, and I was usually the cause if I recall."

"I remember those days," Hawke said fondly and held her arms out to Isabela. "Don't you want to recreate them?"

"Not a chance!" Isabela laughed. She dodged and hid behind Aveline when Hawke lunged at her. "Gross! You're like a slime monster!"

"You'd better not get me dirty again," Aveline warned, crossing her arms over her chest and actually protecting Isabela from Hawke's attempts to grab her by placing her body between them.

"You're no fun," Hawke said, eyeing Aveline's slime-free armor enviously. She was really starting to regret not bringing a handkerchief.

They found another two dead hunters and more spiders than Merrill could shake her magic stick at. Hawke tripped a few times watching for nests overhead rather than looking where she was going. Isabela found her a replacement dagger locked away and preserved in an old chest so Hawke didn't have to fight one-handed for long. She belatedly remembered Sandal's boom rock in her pouch and took delight in freezing the eight-legged bastards solid with the rock and her remaining enchanted dagger. She was reasonably paranoid by then and prepared to throw the boom rock when she heard the crunch of footsteps running up ahead.

"Wait!" Merrill gasped, pushing Hawke's hand back down at the last second.

"Is someone there? It's safe, you can come out," Hawke called, not expecting an answer after finding so many bodies sucked dry from spiders that could swallow her in one bite.

"Hello?" a man's voice called back. The voice soon resolved itself into the figure of a light-haired elf who actually appeared happy to see them. It was a nice change from the rest of his clan. "Praise Andras- I mean the Creators. I thought I'd never get out of- Merrill?"

Isabela snickered and Hawke elbowed her in the side even though she had to fight off her own smirk. Aveline frowned at them for their immaturity, but she should have been used to their affinity for terrible innuendo by now.

" _Aneth ara_ , Pol. Are you hurt?" Merrill asked.

"Stay back! What do you want from me?" Pol said, face suddenly white with fear.

"Pol, what's wrong? I'm here to help!"

"Stay back! Don't touch me!" Pol yelled, backing away and staring at Merrill and her outstretched hand like she was some sort of demon.

"Merrill couldn't hurt you if she tried. At worst, she might make frowny faces," Hawke said. She had met bunny rabbits more frightening than Merrill.

"She'll do worse than hurt me! Don't you know what she is? Creators, help me! Someone, please!" Pol actually turned and ran as if his life depended on it.

"Pol, no!" Merrill cried. "We have to catch him. Hurry!"

They followed Pol down several flights of rickety, wooden stairs and spilled out into a cavern. Hawke swallowed back a curse when she saw an enormous...thing... like a cross between a spider and a dragon bearing down on Pol. It was nearly as big as the cavern itself and stalking toward him on five heavily plated legs.

"Hold on, Pol! We're coming!" Merrill called and Hawke gave her an incredulous look.

"Do you see that thing? We'll never reach him in time!"

"We have to try before the varterral hurts him!"

Hawke hesitated instead of charging ahead with Aveline and Isabela, all too aware of her own mortality in a way she normally disregarded. She had thrown herself headfirst at ogres, darkspawn, dragons, rock wraiths, raiders, and giant spiders, but she hadn't come out of any of her recent fights unscathed. However, she wasn't about to stand back and let everyone else risk their lives. She took a deep breath as she reached for the boom rock and threw it as hard as she could at the varterral.

"Of bloody course," Hawke muttered when the rock and Merrill's paralyzing spells had no effect on the varterral other than to draw its attention toward them.

Each step it took felt like a miniature earthquake and it barely seemed to notice when Aveline bashed it with her shield with the full force of her strength behind the blow. Hawke caught up quickly and rolled beneath one of its mammoth legs as she struck out with her ice dagger. The varterral's hide was tough like iron or fossilized tree bark and only Merrill's elemental attacks seemed to have any effect on it. There was no explosion when Hawke struck one of the legs with her dagger as the varterral crackled with Merrill's lightning. Hawke would have gladly risked blowing herself up a second time considering how little effect her, Aveline, and Isabela's blades seemed to have. The underside of its belly was too high up to reach and its legs may as well have been carved from stone.

"Aveline!" Isabela shouted, getting the Guard Captain's attention. "Do the thing!"

"What's the thing?" Hawke asked, jabbing at a joint with the point of her dagger and barely evading a swipe from one of the varterral's many legs.

Instead of answering, Aveline dropped to one knee directly beneath the varterral and held her shield out at an angle. Isabela ran at her in a full-out sprint with her daggers tucked in close to her sides. The instant before they would have collided, Isabela jumped and landed with both feet on Aveline's shield as Aveline heaved upward and launched her into the air. Isabela let out a victorious whoop as she struck the varterral's underside with both daggers, scoring deep rents into the thinner plating before she hit the ground and rolled out of the way.

"Me next!" Hawke yelled, laughing in disbelief. She felt a thrill of adrenaline and arousal shoot through her at the beautifully executed attack. It was one they must have practiced before. Despite how much they fought, Aveline and Isabela made a killer team.

The varterral gave a piercing shriek and crouched down low. Hawke almost thought it was going to try to take a bite out of one of them until it sprung straight up into the air twice as high as it was tall and came slamming back down hard. The impact knocked everyone off their feet, including Merrill who was staying back and shooting spells at it from afar. They regrouped quickly and Hawke resumed slashing at its legs until the next opening for a combined attack presented itself. The varterral shrieked again, loud enough to make Hawke's hair stand on end, and giant spiders started coming out of the woodwork to swarm toward them.

"Behind you, Merrill!" Hawke shouted when she looked over and saw a huge arachnid barreling toward Merrill.

Merrill swung her staff at the last second and hit the spider with the wood and a blast of rock. Hawke had a brief hope that the spiders would keep their distance as long as she stayed under the varterral, but they danced right beneath its legs and headed right toward her, Aveline, and Isabela. Not only did they have to try and keep from getting crushed by the varterral, they now had to avoid getting bit and attacked by the spiders as well.

Hawke became lost in a cloud of dust and rock from the barrage of Merrill's spells and the varterral's angry stomping. She was caught completely off guard when the varterral crouched again and its hard abdomen smashed into the top of her head with the force of a ceiling caving in. Hawke fell onto her back, unable to see or breathe. She could feel the air displacement when the varterral came crashing back down with alarming speed. Instead of rolling out of the way, Hawke pointed both of her daggers straight up into the air and closed her eyes with a quick prayer.

The click of a spider's fangs close to her face and the scrape of one of its legs against her arm nearly shattered her resolve, but the varterral hit the ground and landed right on the spider. It burst with a disgusting squeal and spray of juices at the same time Hawke's daggers plunged into the varterral's midsection. The force nearly snapped her wrists and she barely managed to keep hold of her daggers, ripping them out and plunging them back in again. The varterral gave another shriek and stood back up, stomping its legs so close to Hawke's head the back of her skull bounced against the ground.

She rolled away from the twitching spider corpse and vomited. The blow to her head and the stinking spider guts that had gotten into her eyes, mouth, nose were more than she could handle. She had never been so badly in need of a bath in her life. At least there was one less spider to deal with, but it took everything Hawke had to climb to one knee when then ground refused to stop spinning and shaking. Another hit like that and she'd be speaking in one word answers and drooling on herself for the rest of her life.

"Up you go, Hawke," Aveline said, scooping Hawke up beneath her arms before she could get her bearings and hauling her bodily to her feet. "Pull yourself together. This thing's not going down without all of us."

"Aye, Cap'n," Hawke murmured, fighting back the urge to vomit again. She staggered in place, trying to stay upright through the unbelievable pain shooting through her skull and down into her neck and jaw.

She scrubbed at her eyes and was relieved when there was no blood from an open head wound to further obscure her vision, but her sight had gone blurry and refused to focus. The number of varterral and spider legs doubled, but Hawke hacked away at the most solid-looking limbs and hoped for the best. It was a miserable, gushy fight. Merrill exploded spiders in a crushing prison of telekinetic energy or blasted them with rock. The display of her powers would be badass if the rest of them weren't being constantly slimed in the process.

"I am burning all my clothes after this," Isabela yelled, taking out her disgust on the nearest varterral leg.

"What clothes?" Aveline and Hawke called back together.

"Eugh!" Isabela said.

"Aveline! Do the thing!" Hawke said after several minutes or hours of fruitless dodging and stabbing. Nothing their blades did seemed to be making an impact, aside from the gashes Isabela had scored on its underbelly. Its blood fell in a pitter-patter around their heads and the droplets hissed when they hit the ground.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Hawke," Aveline warned, growling as her sword made no further progress than Hawke and Isabela's daggers. "You're concussed."

"All the more reason to do it."

"That doesn't even make sense, but fine. It's your funeral."

Aveline ground the front of her shield into the dirt, coating its pitted surface with gravel so Hawke wouldn't slip on the spider guts. Meanwhile, Hawke hurried toward the nearest dead but intact spider. She wasn't sure how effective its venom would be on the varterral, but she swallowed her revulsion and coated her daggers in the fluid leaking from the spider's fangs.

"Are you sure about this, Hawke?" Aveline said, getting into position.

"Nope!" Hawke said. "But I'm doing it anyway."

"That's my girl!" Isabela called, dodging one of the varterral's legs and darting to the forefront to keep its head distracted.

Hawke remembered telling a Grey Warden she couldn't fly, despite her name, but she desperately hoped that ended up being a lie. She could still picture Varric throwing himself onto the back of a dragon in order to kill it. If a lazy, storytelling dwarf could do something as foolhardy as that, there was no reason Hawke couldn't as well.

Hawke backed up far enough to get a running start and narrowed her eyes on the curved surface of Aveline's shield so her vision didn't waver so badly. Isabela and Merrill were keeping the varterral distracted and Hawke only had a short window of time before the varterral called more spiders down on them.

"Now!" Aveline shouted.

Hawke dug the balls of her feet into the ground and ran. She reached Aveline faster than she anticipated and only managed to get one foot on the shield before Aveline shoved upward as hard as she could. Aveline obviously hadn't anticipated Hawke's recent weight loss and Hawke certainly wasn't expecting the sheer amount of force behind the throw. She overshot, badly, and would have ended up flying  _over_  the varterral if not for the leg that swung sideways and connected with her midsection, bringing her flight to an abrupt and violent stop.

"Hawke!" Merrill shouted.

Hawke grunted, losing the grip on her ice blade and nearly falling. She scrabbled frantically and latched onto the varterral's leg with her arms and legs as she swung upside down.

"That wasn't the plan, Hawke!" Aveline shouted, sounding worried as she slashed at another leg when the varterral stomped and tried to shake her off.

"I'm improvising!" Hawke yelled when she got her breath back, but it was all she could do to hang on for dear life.

"Get down from there before you hurt yourself!" Isabela called from somewhere beneath her like she was prepared to catch Hawke if she fell.

Hawke could probably shimmy down the varterral's leg like a pole, but doing something sensible in an already fucked up situation wasn't Hawke's style. Hawke clasped the hilt of her remaining dagger between her teeth, careful not to get spider venom in her mouth. She grabbed the varterral's leg with both hands and started to climb upward. She stopped when she felt it crouch and damn near pissed herself when it took another one of those bounding leaps with her still attached. Hawke closed her eyes and braced herself for the impact. She nearly broke her teeth on the hilt when the varterral landed with shattering force and almost lost her grip. Her jaw ached, but she bit down even harder and began a quick scramble upward when the varterral slowly straightened.

Hawke was glad she landed on one of its hind legs. The varterral stretched its long neck and tried to snap at her with its sharp jaws. It didn't appear to have any eyes or features, but it certainly knew she was there. It crouched again in preparation of another leap, and Hawke didn't know if she'd be able to manage hanging on a second time. She reached the top of its leg and threw herself onto its back right as it sprung upward. She almost fell off anyway, but Hawke wrapped herself around its weirdly shaped body and hung on with everything she had.

She'd probably ruptured several internal organs, but she could be bitterly grateful that she wasn't pregnant. She was never making fun of Varric for his dragon riding ever again. He'd been practically graceful in comparison, crushed balls and all. At the peak of its jump, Hawke spat the dagger out into her hand and slammed it into the side of the varterral's neck right as it hit the ground near Merrill.

"Don't electrocute me!" Hawke yelled over the varterral's scream when Merrill's staff crackled with electricity.

She was unable to risk casting without hitting Hawke in the process. The varterral shook its head and spun around, trying to reach back and bite her. Hawke stabbed at its eyeless face and it let out another shrill cry that was even worse when Hawke was right next to its mouth.

"Oh, shut up before I really give you something to cry about!" Hawke yelled.

"Any day, Hawke!" Aveline shouted as she bashed the varterral with her sword and shield, looking impossibly tiny from above.

Hawke stabbed at the varterral again and again, but it refused to give up and die. "Dammit!" she swore when its wild thrashing nearly knocked her off. She wasn't going to be able to stay on for much longer.

The varterral crouched again and Hawke braced herself for another leap. She wasn't ready for the varterral to tip its body vertical and send her body pitching forward over its neck and head. She made a desperate grab, but there were no handholds for her to latch onto. It was a miracle that she managed to stab her dagger into the base of its skull and dangle from the hilt. Hawke cried out when she lost her grip and fell in a heart-stopping drop. The ground wasn't as far away as it could have been, but she landed on her bad leg and her ankle rolled with a pop that was audible even over the varterral's scream.

"Fuck! Ow!" Hawke yelled, but her shout was lost under the scuttling clicks of more spiders rushing to the varterral's side. "Shit, shit, shit!" Hawke swore, concussed, weaponless, and possibly with a broken ankle.

The first spider bowled into her as soon she managed to clamber awkwardly onto one leg. She fell onto her stomach but rolled over onto her side before the spider could sink its fangs into her shoulder. Its legs were everywhere and Hawke felt a moment of paralysis when it reared up and tried to bite her again. She tucked her knees against her chest at the last second and the spider's fangs stopped inches from her face when its body slammed against her shins.

"I hate spiders!" Hawke yelled at the top of her lungs as she reached up, grabbed the slimy fangs near the root, and yanked them apart in opposite directions as hard as she could.

She didn't manage to rip them out, unfortunately, but the spider shrieked and scrambled backward, pawing at its multi-eyed face. Hawke didn't see anything she could use as a weapon except for a hanging lantern nearby. She used the pole to pull herself up and grabbed the lantern off the hook. She was nearly knocked over again as the spider shook itself off and leapt at her with an angry hiss, but she swung the lantern and smashed it against the spider's head. It wasn't nearly as flammable as she'd hoped, but glass shards punctured enough of its eyes that it writhed in agony, unable to bite her for the moment.

"A little help!" Hawke called frantically, holding the broken lantern in her fist ready to strike again. She heard the whoosh of Merrill's spell and didn't have time to turn away before spider exploded all over her. Hawke froze, seething with disgust and resignation and pain.

 _I hate all things_ , Hawke thought vehemently. She didn't dare open her mouth because she would start screaming and never stop, and she didn't want to get any more spider guts in her mouth. She dropped the lantern and clung to the pole while she waited for the fight to be over. She'd done her job. She was retiring on an island somewhere and taking baths every day, twice a day after this.

Aveline and Isabela managed to cripple two of the varterral's legs, but the final blow came when Merrill hit the dagger embedded in its skull with a direct blast of lightning. The varterral seized up in a rictus of pain before it slumped to the ground in a sprawl of twitching limbs. It wasn't quite the heroic victory Hawke had been hoping to brag about to Varric, but fuck it. If he could embellish the stories he told about her, there was no reason why she couldn't either.

"Is it dead?" Isabela panted as she gave the varterral a precautionary stab. "It's dead."

"Cut out its heart and burn its bones!" Hawke called and Aveline snorted. "Yeah, you think I'm kidding. I'm going to fucking strangle Sol after this."

"Pol!" Merrill let out a cry.

Aveline and Isabela each got an arm around Hawke's waist and the three of them hobbled over Merrill. She had knelt - or collapsed - next to the broken, unmoving body of the dumb elf who had found an angry, rampaging varterral preferable to tiny, sweet Merrill.

"Maybe it's not too late?" Merrill pleaded, tears in her big green eyes as she turned them on Hawke. "Maybe we can get him to the Keeper! She can heal almost anything..."

"He's dead. There's nothing a healer can do now," Hawke said, hoping to snap Merrill out of her delusions of saving the man who had hurt her so badly and nearly gotten them all killed. Hawke nearly broke when Merrill turned away and let out tiny, whimpering sobs as she curled over Pol's body.

"Why did you run? You shouldn't have run!" she keened.

"Why did he run, Merrill? What did you do?" Hawke asked.

"Creators... I don't know."

Hawke wasn't so certain about that, but she wasn't going to push. Merrill's entire clan treated her like she carried the plague. Marethari's scolding was practically a welcome home parade compared to the rest of her clan. Merrill had been shunned and forced to live in a hovel among humans, yet she'd always been unfailingly optimistic and held strong until now.

"Do you need a minute alone?" Hawke asked, uncertain how to comfort her.

Merrill sniffled wetly and shook her head as she stood. "No. Thank you. I...we have too much to do for me to sit here, bawling. Pol wasn't like the others. He was city born. Worldy. He ran away from Denerim and found us. I thought if anyone would understand, he would. This... something is very wrong. I want to see the Keeper."

"And we will," Isabela assured her. "Don't blame yourself, kitten. Sometimes men do senseless things."

Merrill didn't respond, jaw tight as she looked away from the three of them and Pol on the ground. Hawke gingerly tested her left foot and let out an involuntary whimper when pain burst from her ankle.

"Ohh. That's not a good sound," Isabela said. "Come on. Let's get you off that foot, Hawke."

"You can set me down next to the varterral. Hey, I ever tell you about that time Varric rode a dragon?" Hawke said, slurring more than a little bit.

Aveline and Isabela exchanged concerned glances over her head, but there wasn't much anyone could do without a healer or dunking Hawke in a bath of elfroot potion. That, actually, sounded amazing. With the exception of Merrill, they were all covered in dirt and spider goo.

" _Our_  Varric? How hard did that thing hit you in the head?" Aveline said.

"Pretty hard," Hawke admitted. "But not so hard I'd make something like that up. He jumped off this huge platform and landed on the dragon's back with only a dagger, too. Very heroic, except for the part where he crushed his balls and screamed like a little girl. He'll deny it, especially that last part, but you can ask Anders and Fenris if you don't believe me."

"Not that I don't trust you Hawke, but..." Isabela stopped and considered. "Actually, no. I don't trust you as far as I can throw you. At least in this case."

"Aveline threw me pretty far," Hawke beamed as they lowered her down next to the varterral's head as requested. "That was  _amazing_. Except for everything that came after, of course. We might need to work on my landing a bit."

"We won't be doing that again anytime soon," Aveline said, rubbing her shield arm with a wince. "At least not until Isabela lays off the cakes."

"It's not my fault you're such a  _delightful_  cook," Isabela said. "Or that your cakes have the consistency of rocks."

Hawke yanked the charred dagger out of the varterral's skull and hacked away at its chest cavity. She would have to get the heart to Sol sooner rather than later since she couldn't preserve it with her ice dagger. She covered herself with more gore while the others explored the cavern and Merrill held vigil over Pol's remains. Isabela sniffed out a large stash of treasure that would have impressed Hawke only a month ago, but was a pittance compared to what she'd found in the Deep Roads. Still, she didn't turn down her share or hesitate to load up the litter Aveline fashioned from several rough planks and a bit of rope.

Aveline and Isabela took turns dragging Hawke on the sled. She felt every single bump and divot in the ground like someone was beating her head anew. She was actually grateful when they reached stairs or uneven terrain so she could get out and hobble around with a makeshift crutch.

Hawke forgot all about her misery when they came across a pool of fresh water to fill their waterskins and - even more importantly -  _bathe_. Hawke couldn't get out of her leathers fast enough and fell into the pool with the rest of her clothes on. Thankfully, the water wasn't deep enough to drown in, but it was cold enough that Hawke forgot about the pain in her ankle and the rest of her body for a little while.

Isabela made a production of teasing Aveline for her mannish figure and the freckles on her ass until Aveline had flushed as red as her hair and dunked her. They ended up getting into a wet, naked wrestling match that fried Hawke's brain as thoroughly as the varterral's. They called a draw once Isabela ended up with a blackened eye and Aveline with a busted lip and went to cool off on opposite sides of the pool. Isabela joined her as Hawke stripped out of her sopping wet clothes and scrubbed them as best she could, but they would have to be replaced as well.

Isabela draped an arm over Hawke's shoulder and casually palmed her breast as she nuzzled her lips against her ear. She was obviously worked up from the fight with the varterral and Aveline – a reaction that Hawke had taken shameless advantage of in the past.

"Wanna fool around?" Isabela purred, confirming Hawke's suspicion when she gave her nipple a tweak and made the bud tighten.

Her skin was soft and warm despite the cold water. She knew exactly how to push Hawke's buttons and offered pleasure without any blessed strings attached. Hawke was so very tempted to lose herself between Isabela's legs for a few hours and not have to think anymore. Even Aveline's disapproving glare wasn't that much of a turn off. Hawke pressed her cheek against Isabela's shoulder and breathed out against her neck.

"Is it terribly cliché if I say I have a headache?" Hawke sighed regretfully, closing her eyes against the pounding that felt like a dwarf trying to shatter iron while using her head as an anvil.

"You probably got brain damage from an elven spider monster falling on you, Hawke. All the more reason to take advantage of what little time you have left."

Hawke snorted out a laugh and Isabela dropped her arm to curl around her waist with a gentle squeeze, but she didn't ask again. Hawke was desperately tired, but she knew she shouldn't sleep with a concussion. They made camp away from the spring and whatever creatures might use it for a watering hole and dried off around the large fire Merrill conjured. Hawke hoped the light would serve more as a deterrent to those same beasties rather than a beacon.

They passed around bland rations and Hawke didn't feel guilty about downing an entire elfroot potion since she was the only injured party. Only Aveline had thought to bring a spare change of clothing. Hawke sprawled unabashedly naked between Isabela's legs with her foot wrapped and propped up on one of their packs while her clothing dried next to the fire. Isabela sat equally bare on a flat rock behind her and played with her hair. Unlike Merrill, Hawke had no doubt Isabela would make her hair look as stupid as possible, but she was too tired to care.

Merrill had passed on the bath but stripped down to the fascinatingly complicated contraption that passed as Dalish undergarments. She was quiet and withdrawn and didn't share in any of Isabela's playful banter. Even Hawke could tell the thing with Pol had really gotten to her, and Hawke was fairly oblivious most of the time.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Hawke asked drowsily, stretching her leg out to nudge Merrill with her foot.

"No."

Merrill didn't even glance her way. She sat in a tense ball with her knees up to her chest and her arms wrapped around her shins. Hawke sighed and dropped her foot back down on the pack a little harder than she'd meant to and winced when she heard the clink of glass.

"Ah shit. The ink," Hawke said, snatching up the pack and dragging it into her lap to make sure the tattoo ink hadn't spilled onto the rest of their supplies. She breathed out a sigh of relief when she found the bottle still intact and shot a guilty look at Merrill when she turned to look.

"You stole their sacred ink, Hawke?" Isabela gasped, feigning shock. "How could you?"

"I-uh. Yeah. I got nothing. Sorry, Merrill."

"It doesn't matter to me. Apparently, my entire clan thinks I'm a monster. I don't even have a clan now. Not really."

"You have us," Hawke said. "I'm serious, Merrill. Fuck those pointy-eared assholes. They don't deserve you."

"...Thanks, Hawke," Merrill said morosely, too polite to throw Hawke's offer of friendship back in her face.

Hawke bit her lip and rolled the glass bottle in her hand as she considered the liquid inside. Depending on the light, or some mystic Dalish magic, the ink's color was constantly shifting. It looked as black as a moonless night one second then as rich and red as the earth they were sitting on the next before becoming silvery and mercurial.

"So this may be entirely inappropriate, but you said you know how to do the ritual for the face tattooing you Dalish do, right?" Hawke said.

"The  _vallaslin_ , yes. Why?"

"If it won't piss off your gods too badly...would you maybe consider doing one for me? A tattoo?" At all three women's stares, Hawke hastened to add, "Not on my face, obviously. I know I'm not a replacement for your clan, but I just thought... I don't know what I thought. Sorry, forget I-"

"Yes."

"What? Really?" Hawke said and winced at the loudness of her own voice ringing through the cavern.

"Oh boy," Isabela said.

"Merrill, no," Aveline said. "Hawke, you're concussed and obviously not thinking straight. You do know a tattoo's permanent, right?"

"That's kind of the point. Let's do this, Merrill. I can't walk or sleep anyway so what harm will it do?"

"It will hurt. A lot," Merrill warned, but she accepted the bottle from Hawke.

"I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not exactly a stranger to pain."

"I'll need a bit of your blood," Merrill said, unstoppering the bottle.

Hawke held out her hand and watched as Merrill made a tiny, horizontal nick on the inside of her wrist with the sharp knife she used for her blood magic. She held the mouth of the bottle beneath the cut to catch the spilled drops before repeating the process on her own wrist. Their combined blood and whatever spell or prayer Merrill whispered over the bottle turned the ink a deep, rich copper that stayed unchanging.

"So...uh...what's this ritual entail, exactly?" Hawke asked Merrill.

"Silence."

"Burn!" Isabela crowed, slapping her knee and sounding proud of Merrill's sharp comeback. "She told you, sweet thing."

"Actually, the ritual is meant to be done in complete silence," Merrill explained as she directed Hawke onto a bedroll laid out next to the fire. "Cries of pain during the blood writing ritual signify one is not yet ready to bear the responsibilities of adulthood. This'll be a little different since Hawke is not Dalish or a believer in our ways. I guess it's fine if you want to cry, Hawke."

"I am going to tell everyone if you cry," Isabela said, clasping her hands between her knees and looking every inch delighted with the proceedings.

Hawke flipped her a rude gesture, but then she saw the kit Merrill pulled out of her satchel consisting of tiny, needle-like chisels and an equally tiny hammer. She swallowed and fixed her eyes on the roof of the cavern. The ceiling? Hawke didn't know if those terms applied to giant holes in the ground or only to actual buildings. Whatever it was called, Hawke had no doubt she and the mossy rocks up there were about to be very well-acquainted.

"Will this take long?" Aveline said. "I thought you wanted to go see your Keeper."

"Pol and the other hunters are dead. No amount of hurrying will bring them back now," Merrill said crossly, sterilizing the needles with a white-hot glow from her fingertip. "Any requests, Hawke?"

"How about 'for a good time, post a missive to...' on her ass?" Isabela suggested.

"Hawke doesn't want a tattoo that matches yours, Isabela," Aveline said.

"Perhaps you should think about getting 'In Loving Memory of Wesley' right across your chest, Aveline. I can tell you that'll really turn on any future lovers of yours."

"Don't go there."

"My entire body would be covered with names if I did that," Hawke said before Aveline and Isabela could make her headache worse with their bickering. "I hadn't really thought about what I'd get. Or where. Any thoughts, Merrill?"

Merrill rested the tiny hammer against her chin and considered Hawke before she reached out and tapped her lightly the right side of her ribcage. "Here. Over your liver. If you don't mind elvish, there's a verse I've always loved that I believe would suit you."

"Not my heart?" Hawke asked, only half joking. A part of her knew she was delaying, nervous at the thought of having entire lines of verse hammered into her tender ribs over and over again. At least it wouldn't be her face. She was starting to get a new appreciation for Merrill's tattoos.

"The liver purifies the blood. Our  _vallaslin_  is meant to remind us of our elven blood and form a connection with our gods and ancestors."

"I'm sure Hawke's liver could use some purifying," Isabela said.

"As could yours," Hawke retorted, reaching out to pinch Isabela's calf. "That sounds fine, Merrill. Let's do it."

"If you're ready to begin the ritual, I will need to concentrate," Merrill said as she moved to straddle Hawke's thighs.

Hawke wasn't sure whether to blame the campfire, nerves, or Merrill leaning over her naked body for the prickle of sweat that broke out over her skin. She nodded and pinched her lips shut, breathing out slowly through her nose.

"I'm here if you need to hold my hand," Isabela said in a stage-whisper, eyes dark and fixed on them with an unquestionably ravenous expression.

Hawke glared at her until Merrill dipped the tip of a needle into the ink and placed it against her ribcage just beneath her breast. She gave the needle several quick taps with her hammer, pushing the point through several layers of skin and possibly into the bone itself. Hawke felt an intense, searing pain bloom from the spot. Merrill shifted the needle down a hair's width and started the next round of tapping. The pain became progressively worse until Hawke felt each tap vibrate through her molars and into the scrambled eggs that used to be her brain. She prided herself on the fact she only yelped once when the lines of the tattoo overlapped the painful bruising she'd gotten from colliding with the varterral's leg.

After what felt like hours of agonizing torture, Merrill sat back and swiped her wrist over her brow as she declared triumphantly, "First word done!"

"First  _word_? How many words are there?" Hawke demanded, sitting up so fast she nearly knocked Merrill over. She couldn't even feel the pain in her ankle anymore, drowned out by the brand of fire lancing her ribs and throbbing with every heartbeat.

"Let's see... Nineteen words. Eighty-nine letters?"

"Oh,  _fuck_ me," Hawke said with feeling, lying back down slowly.

Isabela silently reached out a hand toward her and Hawke took it, squeezing hard enough to shatter stone.

* * *

The tattoo took hours of intensive, excruciating work that stretched into eternity. Hawke developed a fever that burned the breath from her lungs and evaporated the sweat on her brow. She drifted in and out of a delirious half-sleep with the only relief being the times Isabela dribbled water into her parched mouth or Aveline pressed a cool hand against her burning forehead.

Isabela and Aveline traded shifts so one of them could sleep while the other kept watch and stoked the fire. Merrill worked tirelessly in silence, as if in a trance, and refused offers of food, water, or even breaks. Hawke was loathe to interrupt her concentration and felt herself reaching the breaking point over and over without a sound. Eventually, she broke, but instead of screaming she floated in a haze of exhaustion and pain and euphoria that was unlike anything she'd ever experienced.

Merrill ended up tattooing six lines of gorgeous, flowing script in ancient elvish that would have been impossible for Hawke to read even if she wasn't looking at the words upside down. Merrill looked as wrecked as Hawke did by the time she finished. She collapsed onto the bedroll after finally putting aside her tools and the nearly-empty bottle of ink. They lay side by side, sick and shivering, while Isabela and Aveline took turns spoon feeding them broth and elfroot potion and cursing them out. Hawke's newly tattooed skin was raw and blistered and she couldn't breathe on the area without feeling as if a million shards of glass were being shoved beneath her flesh.

"What's it say?" Hawke finally thought to ask when Merrill eventually woke up from her long, well-deserved nap.

Merrill was curled up on her side with her cheek tucked against Hawke's shoulder. She ghosted her fingers over the script without actually touching the raised, crimson lines and murmured,

" _Aneth ara, lethallan_  
_Mi da'vehn sulahn melana_  
_Vir ar melana_  
_Dareth se era'en_  
_Vir ar melana  
__Dareth se era'en."_

At Hawke's prodding, Merrill translated the words into Common as best she could, meaning:

"Greetings, my friend  
The blade of the people sings through time  
Time is my path  
Be safe in your dreams  
Time is my path  
Be safe in your dreams."

"Did you really have to repeat those last two lines?" Hawke groaned, brushing her dry lips against Merrill's temple to show she was teasing. Mostly.

"I suppose not. No one but the Dalish Keepers will know what it says. We should...probably not tell Keeper Marethari about the tattoo. Which means you'll need to have Anders to heal this. I'm sorry."

Fuck Hawke's life. She was probably going to die from blood poisoning in that case. Even Isabela started to look queasy halfway through the procedure and was probably rethinking any future tattoos on her ass or otherwise.

Aveline let out a sigh and tiredly rubbed her forehead. "You're an idiot, Hawke."

"So I've been told."

"Let's get you on the sled and get out of here. I'm tired of sitting in the middle of a graveyard."

Hawke's torso was wrapped in strips of cloth soaked with elfroot potion and she didn't attempt to put on more than her shirt and trousers. She left her ruined leathers behind as she was strapped onto the sled, but her boots would probably be salvageable once her ankle healed.

Aveline and Isabela didn't even try to pretend they weren't annoyed. They were more apt to send Hawke's mode of transportation careening downhill and into a tree or a ditch once they make their way out of the cave. Hawke was more than a little bruised and scraped up by the time she slid into the Dalish camp, hit a rock, and rolled the rest of the way until she came to a hard stop against Master Ilen's stall.

Fortunately, Marethari was willing to heal her without asking too many questions. Hawke wisely didn't mention the tattoo. It was still inflamed but moving onto the itchy, scabby stages of the healing process. She might even avoid needing to pay Anders a visit as long as it didn't get infected.

"The varterral is dead," Hawke said when Marethari finished healing her head and ankle and helped Hawke back to her feet.

" _Ma serannas_ ," Marethari said fervently. "I'll breathe easier, knowing that we will lose no more people to it."

"We found these," Merrill said handing over the amulets the hunters in the cave had been wearing. "There were so many others dead… Another clan, I think."

"I'll return the amulets to their families and perform the traditional funeral rites for all those who have moved on from our world," Marethari assured her.

"We lost Pol. In the cave, he...he fled at the sight of me, straight into the varterral," Merrill said brokenly, trying to remain brave in the face of her Keeper.

"Many of the clan fear you'll bring back the corruption - or worse - from the mirror."

"And where did they get that idea?"

"I am their Keeper,  _da'len_. It was my duty to warn them. It's still not too late for you to return to us. Reconsider - there's no need for you to live alone."

"I'm not alone. I have Hawke and my friends now. Must we go over this again? You'll never accept what I'm doing."

"The eluvian is a trap. It cost us Tamlen. It led you to blood magic. Will you let it twist you further from who you really are?"

"And who am I?" Merrill said angrily but didn't wait for a reply. "We've done as you asked. Honor our bargain. Give me the arulin'holm."

"Hawke...because Merrill won't listen, I give this heirloom of my clan to you for safekeeping. Please... don't let her do this," Marethari said, handing Hawke an incredibly ancient dagger before stalking away with tightly leashed anger.

"Thank the Creators! I thought... maybe she'd go back on her word," Merrill said, holding out her hand eagerly.

Hawke couldn't even begin to fathom how the dagger was supposed to fix Merrill's weird mirror. It wasn't even sharp. Hawke curled her hand around the hilt and looked down at the arulin-whatever instead of handing it over. "What did the Keeper mean, the mirror led you to blood magic?"

"I... the shard I picked up was corrupted. I couldn't cleanse it without help. The Keeper refused. She said that it belonged to another time, and should be left there. So I found a...spirit. It gave me the power to purify the mirror through blood magic."

"I've never heard of blood magic 'purifying' anything."

"There's nothing inherently evil about blood magic. It's magic, like any other. The power that contaminated the mirror was too strong to be driven out by normal means. If I had piles of lyrium lying about, I could have used that, but I didn't. I used what I had."

"Is it worth restoring this mirror if it turns your clan against you?"

"You know what it's like to lose everything, Hawke. Not just our land and freedom, but history, stories, language, magic, rituals. Even our gods are gone! It is a sacrifice, but if the mirror restores even one fragment of the past, it's worth it."

"Very well, Merrill," Hawke said softly, feeling a knot of unease form in her gut as she handed the arulin'holm over to her. "I hope this helps you finish your work on the eluvian."

"Thank you! I knew you would understand."

"We're family now, right?" Hawke said with a wink.

"Yes!" Merrill said, sounding joyously close to tears as she launched herself at Hawke and squeezed her arms around Hawke middle tightly. Hawke let out a breathless gasp of pain and Merrill leapt away at once, hands flying up to her mouth in belated remembrance.

"O-Oh no, Hawke! I'm so sorry! I forgot! Are you all right?"

"P-Peachy..." Hawke wheezed, staggering a few steps before sitting down hard on a nearby crate. "Just give me a minute."

"If we steal one of those land ships we won't have to walk back," Isabela said beguilingly.

Hawke gave the thought some serious consideration. They had quite a walk ahead of them until they reached Kirkwall. Then she noticed all the angry elves glaring at their group and thought better of stealing anything else from them, especially something as large as a land ship.

"Let's be away from here. The others are giving us the evil eye," Merrill said nervously, tucking the arulin'holm safely in her belt.

"Does anyone want to carry me back?" Hawke said hopefully. She tried to look as pitiful as possible as she struggled to put her boots back on and Merrill put the sled with their packs and treasure back to rights.

"No!" Aveline and Isabela shouted, looking equally put out by the prospect.

"You don't know how tempting it was to push you off the nearest cliff, Hawke. You have two working legs. Use them," Aveline said.

"Varric would have carried me," Hawke muttered resentfully as she stood and pressed a hand to her side with a grunt.

"If Varric jumped off a ledge, would you?"

"Actually..."

"On second thought, don't answer that. Of course you would."

"It makes for a good story?" Hawke said.

"You two are made for each other," Aveline said as she started walking toward the path that would lead them out of camp and back into the city without waiting for the rest of them. Hawke didn't need to see her face to hear the way Aveline rolled her eyes, but she did glance back at Hawke's less than enthusiastic sigh.

"Right..."

"Trouble in paradise, pet?" Isabela said, sidling up to Hawke's side and nudging her with an elbow. She froze when Hawke gasped and doubled over, clutching her side. "Shit. I forgot. Sorry?"

"I am going to  _kill_  you, Isabela."

"You'd have to catch me first," Isabela said with a cocky grin. She darted out of reach when Hawke swiped at her.

"Then you'd better get those bronzed butt cheeks of yours moving," Hawke growled.

Isabela laughed and ran to catch up with Aveline. Hawke grabbed the sled's lead from Merrill and tried to forget about the pain in her side, the varterral's heart sitting at the bottom of her pack, or the fact she very well may have handed Merrill a tool to carry out a demon's bidding.

Questionable judgment must run in the family, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The verse Merrill tattoos on Hawke is from [ Rogue Heart ](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=aLTeHQ2LIy4), my favorite song on the DA2 soundtrack.


	15. Chapter 15

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for alcoholism and sexual assault. Hawke is a disaster of a human being.
> 
> (Hey, Peppy!!! It's a Valentine's Day miracle!!!! XD <333)

Hawke ached to join Isabela, Aveline, and Merrill for celebratory drinks at the Hanged Man once they returned to the city, but she wasn't up to seeing Varric again and pretending that everything was fine. Normally, she couldn't hold a grudge to save her life, but whenever she thought about how she'd left things between them it felt like she'd swallowed a cocktail of anxiety, embarrassment, and anger. She had a hard time forgiving the fact Varric had kept Bethany's imprisonment a secret from her.

Hawke felt crippled in the face of so much emotion. So, like usual, she chose to avoid the risk of having a heart-to-heart confrontation and made her requisite visit to Hightown instead. She put in an order for replacement armor and daggers with enchantments before dropping off the varterral heart and what remained of the Dalish ink to Solivitus. With the majority of her friends otherwise engaged, Hawke had no viable excuse to put off going home any longer, although she had enough gold on her from the varterral's cave to rent a room at the Blooming Rose indefinitely.

She returned to Gamlen's with a heavy coin purse and a heavier heart. Leandra opened the door at her reluctant knock and Hawke went inside without saying anything. She didn't want to see Leandra look past her for someone who wasn't there. Snowflake's welcome was heartbreakingly subdued. He approached her with his head lowered and tail nub wagging uncertainly.

Hawke felt terrible for having lashed out at him. She knew she'd been asking the impossible when she ordered Snowflake to protect Bethany from the templars. He would fight to the death for any of them, but Hawke would never forgive herself if he actually did.

If anyone was to blame for Bethany being taken, it was her.

Hawke knelt and threw her arms around Snowflake's thick neck. She buried her face in his bristly, musty dog fur and breathed in the scent of her Ferelden home. His tail whapped with frantic joy as he did his best to try and lick her face until Leandra came to her rescue and claimed Hawke for her own hug.

"Thank the Maker you're home, Marian. After you left and didn't come back, I thought… Well, it doesn't matter. You're here now," Leandra said instead of the recriminations Hawke had been braced for. "I've written to the viscount. With the gold and gems you brought back I was able to secure a deposit on the Amell estate."

"Praise the Maker for small favors," Hawke breathed. She gazed around the cramped hovel with its mishmashed furniture, water-warped floor, and the pervasive smell of mold, wet dog, and rotten cabbage without hiding her distaste. Its appearance – or smell – hadn't improved in the months she'd been gone. She would be glad to be rid of it and its owner, wherever her uncle might be.

"Where's Gamlen? I hope he didn't leave you to fend for yourself," Hawke said.

"He's around…somewhere. Don't worry about me, Marian. Snowflake's been keeping me company," Leandra said.

Snowflake barked twice, panting happily.

"Good boy," Hawke said, giving him head pats that sent him into paroxysms of ecstasy. "So, when do we move?"

"The estate's not currently habitable at the moment. I thought my heart would break when I saw what the slavers had done to my beautiful home. The deposit only ensured us a temporary claim for the title. The previous owners had been remiss in paying property taxes, which we will be expected to pay in full before our family can obtain the deed."

"How many payments did they miss?"

"Three years' worth. All backdated with interest."

"Fuck me," Hawke swore and winced at Leandra's stern look. "Sorry, Mother. But,  _shit_. That's a lot of money, not even including the cost of repairs."

"I'm so sorry, love. I didn't know when you would be back, and I didn't want to wait for the estate to go up for auction or else we might never get this chance again. I couldn't do anything for Bethany or Carver, but with luck I can at least give us a home."

"I got this from my last job," Hawke said, handing over her coin purse gladly. "Take it and do what you can to secure the deed. As for the repairs, I can call in a few favors. The sooner we're out of here, the better."

* * *

Over the next several months, Hawke quickly learned her way around a saw and hammer…with some help. She ended up hiring Bodahn and Sandal full-time and enlisted Aveline and Fenris for free labor whenever they were available. Merrill had thrown herself headfirst into repairing the eluvian and Isabela was smart enough to make herself scarce before she was also roped into a bit of friendly slavery.

The more time and energy Hawke focused toward house reparations, the less she had to focus on repairing her relationships. She didn't necessarily go out of her away to avoid the Hanged Man and Darktown – ergo, Varric and Anders – but work on the estate consumed the majority of her time. The remainder was devoted toward becoming well-acquainted with her fully-stocked wine cellar.

Before she knew it, days turned into weeks and then into months without seeing hide nor hair of either tawny head.

The estate was coming along more rapidly than anticipated, though it was a hideously expensive undertaking. The loot she'd brought back from the varterral's cave dried up faster than a puddle of piss in the desert. She had to pay for supplies and workers and furnishings and wall hangings and whatever the fuck else went into owning a house big enough to fit the entirety of Lothering under its roof. Hawke had no choice but to take jobs beneath her pay grade and work her ass off to stay ahead of the bill and tax collectors.

Her pride prevented her from skipping the bullshit altogether and going to Varric to grovel for her half of the fortune probably still sitting in his trunk. She knew he would hand it over the instant she reached out to him, but she hadn't even written to let him know she'd relocated. Hawke had no doubt he knew exactly where she was, who she was with, and what she'd had for breakfast on any given day. She also knew he could have shown up at any time, invitation or not, but he didn't. She refused to be the one to bend first, even if she only ended up punishing them both for a shitty situation that had been out of their control.

As Anders predicted, Hawke's cycle returned and with it a desperate need to drown herself in the bottom of every bottle she could get her hands on. Since becoming the newest Hightown resident, she found herself frequenting the Blooming Rose more and more often due to its proximity and the fact she was still avoiding the Hanged Man and everything that came attached.

Half-assed games of Diamondback with Denier soon replaced what had been regular Wicked Grace nights with her usual crew. Isabela joined them a few times and tried to wheedle, threaten, or bribe Hawke into returning by dropping hints about Varric or Anders' activities and their various states of being.

According to Isabela, Anders was in hiding from templars, who had been on the warpath since the mysterious disappearance of Ser Alrik and his followers. Hawke had been expecting them to show up on her doorstep with a warrant for weeks, but they never did. Whether that was Cullen's influence or Varric's, Hawke didn't know and didn't care. Her luck evading authority would run out eventually, but until then she wasn't going to stress out about things she couldn't control.

Varric, on the other hand, was wasting away while pining to death over her - if Isabela was to be believed. Hawke knew better. Varric had survived much worse than an absent partner, and Isabela wasn't above lying shamelessly to get what she wanted. Even though Hawke shot her down every time and claimed not wanting to know, she craved these tiny tidbits into her friends' lives and Isabela damn well knew it. Damn her.

The longer Hawke avoided Varric the harder it was to convince herself to be the bigger person - figuratively and literally - and approach him first. Even Aveline grew sick of Hawke's poor evasion, and she normally stayed out of Hawke's affairs unless dragged kicking and screaming into the middle of her drama.

"You're both miserable, Hawke. When are you going to grow up and apologize?" Aveline asked irritably. She set down a mallet to swipe at a layer of dust, sweat, and loose strands of hair that stuck to her forehead while they worked on tearing up the cracked flooring in the kitchen's massive pantry.

"When are you going to tell Donnic you want him to fuck you over that big, official desk of yours?" Hawke shot back, becoming more vicious in her own hammering.

Unsurprisingly, Aveline dropped the subject after that.

Merrill made sad faces at her the rare times she took a break to visit, but she was easy enough to distract by feigning interest in her progress with fixing the eluvian. Hawke honestly didn't know how difficult fixing one mirror could be, magical or not. If it was simply a matter of replacing the missing or broken shards then there were craftsmen she could hire to work their less literal magic on the mirror and be done with it. Apparently, there were rituals, cleansing spells, and communing with the ancestors or whatever was dragging the process out. Hawke learned not to ask and sat quietly while Merrill braided her hair and talked her ear off.

When Hawke wasn't laboring away on the estate, her notoriety began to spread throughout the upper echelons of Kirkwall thanks to work she did for the viscount, Guard, Chantry, and whoever else managed to gain an audience with her. Being well-known outside of the slums was both a blessing and a curse. Her usefulness meant better-paying jobs, but her supposed wealth and influence attracted an unwanted amount of suitors as well. She lost count of how many nobles with eligible sons Leandra attempted to orchestrate meetings with as potential marriage prospects. Hawke did her best to be herself during the dinners she couldn't wiggle her way out of attending. She made certain to be blitzed before the appetizers were even served, wore her best blood-stained armor at the dinner table, and regaled the horrified attendees with a detailed account of her more gruesome kills.

Needless to say, the marriage proposals swiftly dried up until they dwindled down to the occasional half-hearted inquiries that even Leandra wasn't desperate enough to consider.

Hawke didn't see why she should care what a snobby bunch of busybodies who'd never stabbed anything more dangerous than a holiday roast thought of her. She remained scandalously offensive in her dealings with those in the upper classes in spite of Leandra's best attempts to restore their family's name. The Amells hadn't wanted anything to do with Hawke or her siblings, and Hawke was more than happy to return the favor even post-mortem.

She had been raised a Hawke, not an Amell. She was going to make  _her_  name one to be proud of in this city.

In the spring, Hawke's twenty-fifth birthday came and went with minimal fanfare. The thought of celebrating without Bethany or Varric made her ill. She locked herself in her room with a bottle of revoltingly expensive brandy and didn't come out for two days. She was relieved and maybe a little disappointed when no one tried to draw her out more than once, but the stack of gifts she found piled outside her door eased the sting of loneliness somewhat.

Leandra had commissioned her a dress of crushed blue velvet that Hawke had no intentions of wearing, ever. Aveline baked a requisite cake, though it was garish red instead of the usual blue. Snowflake was colorblind, however, and didn't discriminate in his cake thievery, but he did bring her one of Gamlen's shoes in trade.

Isabela surprised her by breaking into her house a few days later and displaying herself on Hawke's bed wearing nothing but a harness around her hips with a huge Qunari-sized cock jutting up from between her toned thighs. She didn't let Hawke get away with claiming another headache and fucked her on every surface, in every orifice, until Hawke was begging for mercy.

When Hawke was wrecked and still trying to catch her breath, Isabela kissed her goodbye with a promise of more where that came from at the Hanged Man. It was a thoroughly unsubtle hint, but at least she let Hawke keep the strap-on after she left.

She also got wine from Fenris and a lovely bouquet of red, purple, and yellow alstroemeria from Merrill along with the promise of a second tattoo whenever she wanted. Hawke was still recovering from the first one. She never did hear from Anders, but she didn't seek him out either. She found a secret entrance the slavers had used in the cellar that connected the estate to Darktown in a series of passages that could come in handy at some point, especially if Anders was still on the templars' watchlist. Hawke had yet to explore the passages and boarded up the entrance until she had a reason to use it.

Sandal made her an entire supply of boom rocks that she put to immediate use when she received a request from Hubert, her business partner, to "take care of" a nest of giant spiders in the Bone Pit. The Bone Pit was a haunted mine that Varric had told her not to waste her time or money investing in, so of course she did the minute she had the funds to do so. The damn shithole was more trouble than it was worth, but she'd been drawn in with promises of equal shares and employment opportunities for her fellow Fereldans.

Even absent, Hawke refused to let Varric get in one more "I told you so" despite ruining yet another set of armor after being slimed by the biggest spider she had ever encountered.

She really,  _really_ hated spiders.

Varric's gift, if it could be called that, arrived a week late and was comprised of a small but heavy chest and a thick envelope. The chest contained her initial investment of fifty sovereigns into the Deep Roads expedition, plus a little extra.

The letter was impersonal and read like an accountant's invoice. He detailed her share of the profit converted into the local currency and included a list of confirmed and potential buyers for the ancient dwarven treasure. Gold was gold, of course, but the age, history, and inscriptions were worth far more to the right people. Most of those people were way back in Orzammar, which possibly explained the delay, but Hawke rather thought he took petty joy in watching her struggle. She knew she would in his position.

There was also a seven-page inventory with estimates of each item's value according to expert appraisers that she barely glanced over. The last page included several alternative investment opportunities without actually coming out and stating "I told you so" in regards to Hawke's blunder with the Bone Pit.

There was not one single anecdote or even a "Hello, Hawke. How are you?" anywhere in the missive no matter how many times Hawke went back and read each boring page hoping for a secret message or slip of decorum or  _anything._ His salutation, a gallingly formal  _Regards, V. Tethras_ , was enough to send Hawke into a cold, murderous rage. She dealt with her disappointment by showing up on Fenris' doorstep with her newest pair of nameless daggers, both enchanted with fire runes, and following him to the Holding Caves outside of the city to slaughter a bunch of slavers.

The killing spree didn't help as much as she hoped it would. She did end up hiring one of the rescued slaves, an elf girl named Orana, to help cook and clean at the estate despite Fenris' disapproval. Bodahn and Sandal were rather hopeless at both. Bodahn maintained the grounds and did the shopping while Sandal more than earned his keep with his enchantments, even if he did swing on the chandeliers and see dead people on occasion.

With the estate now mostly habitable, Leandra happily took over the day-to-day aspects while Hawke ran around the city terrorizing the local criminal populace. She even acquired a new archer when they went on a mission with Fenris and Isabela to avenge Sebastian's murdered family. The Vaels' friend, Lady Harimann, had orchestrated their deaths while under the thrall of a desire demon. Hawke made certain neither the demon nor Lady Harimann would plot anything more than a grave ever again, and Sebastian vowed to help Hawke in whatever way he could.

Sebastian was everything Leandra would have wanted in a son-in-law – polite, handsome, heir to the Starkhaven throne, and, most importantly,  _single_. Hawke regretted ever introducing the two of them. Thankfully, Sebastian adhered so strictly to his vows to the Maker that Hawke didn't put nearly as much effort into flirting with him as she normally would have. She had a nervous suspicion that if she showed too much interest Sebastian would end up with a conveniently placed bolt in his back in the middle of a fight.

Other than Isabela the one time on her birthday, Hawke hadn't been with anyone since Varric and Anders, even though most of the staff and regulars at the Blooming Rose now knew her by name. Denier wasn't nearly as talented in the ways of mind reading as his cousin, but he was good at deciphering her moods. They weren't friends, exactly, but they were friendly enough. He knew when she needed a distraction and when to shut up so Hawke could drink away her misery in companionable silence.

She spent more nights than not at the Rose and even garnered a regular room there. She hated the knot she got in her stomach every time she looked at her stupidly large bed in her stupidly large bedroom with its luxurious red and gold furnishings back at the estate. She hadn't intended to copy Varric when she'd been finishing the last touches on her room, but she must have subconsciously mirrored the color scheme of the one place she'd been starting to consider home in all of Kirkwall.

It was getting harder to make herself get out of bed in the mornings, or afternoons, as the estate came closer to completion. Soon, she wouldn't have anything to distract her. Even super involved, annoying jobs that took all of her energy and focus were starting to become few and far between. Criminals were finally getting a clue and learning to keep out of the mouths of those who would bring word back to Hawke and her friends.

By the time she felt like she could finally take a full breath without the weight of all her responsibilities bearing down on her, the year was close to being halfway over. All she had to show for it was a huge estate she could barely afford, a few more scars, and a cold, empty bed. The only thing that made this morning, the twenty-third of Bloomingtide, 9:32 Dragon Age, at the Blooming Rose special was the severity of Hawke's hangover and the unexpected sight of Denier already waiting for her at their usual table by the time she stumbled downstairs. He tended to avoid daylight at all costs – possibly a remnant of living underground for most of his life – but something must have provoked him to come out of his cave and seek her out.

The seat opposite him already had her regular breakfast order of fried eggs and a shot of clear vodka waiting, so she sat down and eyed him warily. Denier was bleary-eyed and nursing a mug of tea, which he tilted in a wordless gesture for her to dig in. He looked about as hungover as she felt, which was only fair since he'd beaten her soundly at Diamondback the previous night and they still played for shots. Neither of them said a word until they finished their respective breakfasts. She still didn't say anything when Porfiria, a rather plain-looking waitress with a spitfire personality, cleared away the dishes and set down a second mug of tea in front of Hawke without being asked. Hawke didn't drink much tea, but she liked to let the heat seep into her fingers.

"So, here's the thing, Hawke. I don't mean to step in where I'm not wanted, but I gotta get this off my chest," Denier said, broaching conversation first as he fiddled with the handle of his mug.

Hawke had learned that was one of his tells when he had a shitty hand and was trying to bluff. He was a surprisingly terrible liar and had absolutely no chance of beating Varric at Wicked Grace, ever, although she knew they still met up regularly. Denier always let her know when he was expecting Varric for their semi-regular Diamondback matches. Hawke made certain to avoid the Rose on those nights and usually ended up going home and drinking herself to oblivion. She had an unfortunate habit of passing out on the thick, cushy rug next to her bed with only Snowflake as company. Even he had become a judgmental shit. He would rest his head on his paws and whine at her balefully way too early in the morning until she dragged herself off the floor and pretended to be someone who had her life together.

It was pitiful how much she hung on Denier's every word whenever he had news about Varric. There was no question he was blabbing to Varric about her as well, but so did everyone else in their mutual acquaintance. At least Denier wasn't spreading around rumors that Hawke rode on dragons, or could turn into a dragon, or whatever the popular gossip originating out of Lowtown was that month.

"Please tell me you haven't decided to start shaving your chest hair. Your clients would be absolutely devastated. As would I," Hawke said, attempting to keep the conversation light. She and Denier didn't  _do_  serious conversations. It was a part of why she kept him around.

"Not gonna distract me this time. Sorry, love, but I've been puttin' this off far too long."

"Spit it out then. I haven't got all day," Hawke said irritably.

She tried to cover her sudden tension with a large gulp of too-hot tea and winced. She hoped he wasn't attempting to stage an intervention. She hadn't meant to throw up in Lusine's favorite vase last night, but it was practically a habit by that point. Of course, it hadn't been Lusine's favorite vase until Hawke promised to reimburse her for it.

"Branka's hairy tits. Ya sure don't beat around the bush," Denier muttered. He smoothed down his mustache with his thumb and forefinger, clearly delaying.

"I'll beat something if you don't start talking."

"All right, all right. Don't get yer knickers in a twist." Hawke narrowed her eyes and Denier cleared his throat hurriedly. "Fine. Varric. He's a fuckin' mess. Won't come out and say it, mind, but I won five rounds of Diamondback in a row the other night and he didn't even notice. Five! If not for yer generous patronage, I'd be humpin' clients two and three atta time just to break even on our game nights."

"Fine, so he's distracted. I don't see what that has to do with me." Hawke said, trying desperately to pretend her ears weren't perked like Snowflake's whenever anyone went to into the kitchen, hoping for scraps.

"Not just distracted, lass.  _Pinin'_. I coulda snatched his coin purse and the crossbow off his back without him bein' any wiser."

"Bullshit. You'd have lost your hands the second you looked at Bianca wrong."

"Point still stands. He's only functionin' because someone has to keep you lot from gettin' yerselves killed, but it's killin' him to stay away. Yer all the other talks about. There's only so much I can take before I'm tempted to bash yer fool heads together and call it a day."

"What do you expect me to do about it?"

Denier stared at her incredulously before he dropped his head into his hand. "By the beards of my ancestors, ya deserve each other. Look. Varric's my kin and a damned decent guy, despite the odds. He loves ya and it don't take a genius to see the feelin's mutual. But yer both as stubborn as bloody brontos and neither of ya will come out and say it first."

"I wouldn't even know what to say to him," Hawke said helplessly, staring down at her mug and wishing desperately that it was something stronger than tea. "It's dragged out for too long."

She'd gone almost six months without seeing or talking to Varric. She'd numbed herself to the agony of living each day knowing she was the one tearing them further apart by throwing herself into work and denial and drinking. None of it was sustainable indefinitely but damned if Hawke wasn't determined to try. Varric could have sought her out at any time, but he didn't. He'd given Hawke space like she'd asked for, and that only fucked her up even more.

"So don't say anythin'. Listen," Denier said, reaching out to place a hand over hers when she started to push away from the table. "Our next game night is this Wednesday comin' up. Wear a pretty dress or somethin' and just...be around. Show him what he's been missin'. I can guarantee neither of ya will be needin' words for that reunion."

"I don't have anything to wear."

"Darlin', that should be the least of your problems right now. Show up naked for all I care, but do  _somethin'_. For all our sakes."

He let go of her hand and Hawke drained the rest of her tea in one swallow. She braced herself for what she already knew she was going to do, but if she couldn't fight or drink she was determined to cling to denial for as long as possible.

"Besides," Denier said as he leaned back in his chair and swilled the dregs of his tea around in his mug, "if he keeps losin' at cards at the rate he's goin', he'll have to go back into the Deep Roads for more of that treasure when he goes broke."

"Over my dead body."

"That's the spirit," Denier grinned, raising his mug in cheers.

* * *

Hawke was too nervous to eat or even drink in the days leading up to Wednesday. She didn't know if the tremors in her hands were from the lack of alcohol or nerves, but she didn't dare touch a dagger or a hammer lest someone – most likely herself – lose an eye. She went back and forth on whether or not she was actually going to go along with Denier's suggestion to surprise Varric at the Rose.

Come Wednesday, she decided to stay home and never leave her room again.

Snowflake, who she'd locked out of her room when he kept getting underfoot in the middle of her wallowing, whined and paced and scratched at her door incessantly. Hawke tried to ignore him until he started outright  _howling_. She flung open the door with a growl and he came barreling inside. He ignored her entirely and continued his aggravating behavior in front of her wardrobe even when she tried to drag him away by his collar.

"I am taking away all your shoes and having Bodahn give you a bath! And no more treats from Orana!" Hawke threatened, but he ignored her and dragged her back to the armoire, growling plaintively. "Oh, fine then! There'd better be a burglar in there again or you're in so much trouble."

Hawke grabbed a knife from her side table and approached the wardrobe cautiously. Snowflake had stopped barking and sat down to watch her, head cocked and tongue lolling guilelessly. She rolled her eyes at him, counted to three, and flung open the door with her hand raised to strike. When nothing immediately jumped out at her, Hawke used the tip of her knife to prod aside the clothes hanging up suspiciously.

There was no one in there, not even a stray cat or mouse.

"Well?" Hawke said to Snowflake. "What do you have to say for yourself?"

Snowflake yawned so wide she could see down his throat before he padded over to his favorite rug in front of the fireplace. He spun around in a circle three times before he curled up and immediately started snoring.

"Damn dog," Hawke muttered with affection as she turned back to the wardrobe.

She inspected her normal everyday clothes, leathers, and housecoats that she'd become increasingly fond of. None of it was remotely suitable for impressing former lovers. She probably would have a better chance showing up naked after all. Hawke started to close the door when something caught her eye. She tucked the knife into her boot and pushed aside several housecoats to find the box she had hidden that contained items she was never going to wear but kept out of sentimental value.

Inside, she found Ketojan's pendant and the red scarf Varric had given Bethany on her birthday. Tears stung her eyes as she gently set both items aside and pulled out the blue dress Leandra had given Hawke for her birthday with eternal hopes of her eldest daughter finally acting, or at least dressing, like a proper noblewoman. She'd shoved the velvet monstrosity into the box and promptly forgot about it until now. Something clattered to the floor when she shook out the dress. Hawke set aside the hopelessly wrinkled garment and picked up the sock-covered box she spotted cautiously.

She hesitated to open it and reveal the sapphire and silverite necklace inside, feeling like this was trap Snowflake had been attempting to warn her about. No explosions or shades appeared when Hawke cracked open the small box, but the jewels were just as blinding as they had been the last two times Hawke saw the necklace. Sapphires winked and glittered at her in the firelight as if cajoling her to put the necklace on. Hawke scoffed at the very idea, more convinced than ever that Varric had slipped her a cursed heirloom as a prank.

It would serve him right if Hawke ended up possessed or with her head exploding.

Not letting herself think too hard, Hawke stripped out of her boots and housecoat and gave herself a quick wash in the basin next to her bed. She wished she had time for a proper bath, but drawing and heating the water the non-magical way would take too long and Hawke was already running late. She didn't have any fancy smallclothes for the occasion, so she forewent undergarments entirely.

The dress appeared to be permanently wrinkled from its time sitting in a box, but there wasn't anything Hawke could do about it now. She slipped it on over her head and fought with the skirt and bodice until they sat properly on her wiry frame. The neckline was almost unfashionably low, but Hawke didn't have the sort of bust that would make the cut obscene. She couldn't help thinking the dress would look far better on Isabela or Bethany, both of whom were far curvier than her. She hoped she didn't look as ridiculous as she felt.

She waffled over whether or not to actually wear the necklace. And then she imagined Varric's reaction upon seeing his gift on her the first time. She put the necklace on before she could change her mind but wrapped Bethany's scarf around her neck to hide it, even though the nights had been relatively warm. Hightown had even more thieves and cutpurses than Lowtown and Darktown combined, but thanks to Aveline's patrols and Hawke's interference, the streets were marginally safer to walk at night. Or at least they were as long as one didn't make themselves too irresistible of a target.

She couldn't hide knives in her slippers and didn't own any other shoes, so boots it was. Her dress was long enough that she hoped no one would notice the scuffed footwear beneath. She combed her fingers through her hair anxiously and regarded her reflection in the full-length mirror next to the wardrobe, but she couldn't make her thoughts settle.

Fuck if she wasn't the most nervous she'd ever been at the prospect of seeing Varric again. She hoped he was doing well. She hoped he was miserable. She hoped... She hoped for a million things that wouldn't make a damn bit of difference if she didn't quit dawdling and just  _go_  already.

She nudged Snowflake in the hind end with her boot when she passed, but he only huffed out a low  _woof_  without lifting his head or opening his eyes. Hawke crept downstairs cautiously with her dress hiked up to her knees so she didn't trip. Leandra, Bodahn, and Sandal were around somewhere, and Hawke would rather not have to answer any awkward questions if she was caught.

Orana, at least, was off for the night. Freedom, like her salary, was something the former slave didn't quite know what to do with. Hawke and Fenris had several disagreements over Hawke's employment of her. Orana had been in the service of Fenris' former master and he'd been hard-pressed to see the difference between forced servitude to Danarius and voluntarily working for Hawke. He'd eased off once he saw for himself that Hawke didn't treat her any differently than Bodahn and Sandal, who were also under her employment but more or less honorary family members by that point.

Hawke would have reached the front door undetected were it not for the shoe Snowflake left laying in the hallway. Hawke tripped over it and crashed into the suit of armor she'd insisted on having on display right in the entryway. She'd put it there to give anyone trying to break in a heart attack when they saw what appeared to be an armed guard at first glance. Hawke very nearly gave herself a heart attack as she toppled the display with a resounding crash. She managed to keep from falling over too, but the damage had been done.

"Marian!"

"Messere!"

"Enchantment!"

Hawke sighed and turned away from the mess as Leandra, Bodahn, and Sandal came rushing in to investigate. "I'm fine. Everything's fine. Nothing to see here," she said, knowing it was futile.

"Darling, just look at you!" Leandra exclaimed, more stunned by the sight of Hawke in a dress than the pile of armor scattered all over the floor. "I wish I'd known you were going out. I would have had that pressed for you."

"It's crushed velvet. It's supposed to be wrinkled. Besides, I didn't want to make a fuss," Hawke said, tugging on the creased skirt self-consciously until Leandra tsked and batted her hands away.

"I'm not fussing, but… Oh, if only Bethany could be here to see you!" Leandra said as she fussily plucked tiny lint balls from Hawke's sleeve. "I hate the idea of her locked up in that awful tower."

"Bethany's fine, mother. We've gotten her letters."

Hawke didn't mention letters could be forged or altered or written under duress. She thought up plenty of terrible scenarios all on her own. Leandra didn't need that sort of additional stress in her life. Besides, she was practically bursting with the desire to interrogate Hawke about her appearance.

"Marian, that scarf really doesn't go with the dress, love," Leandra said, tugging pointedly on the end of the red scarf.

"I was cold," Hawke fibbed. It would be summer in a few weeks and she was already melting in the heavy velvet. Even so, she refused to remove the scarf and clutched it tight to her throat so Leandra didn't see the necklace and start asking questions Hawke had no intention of answering.

"Very well. I don't want to keep you, but at least allow me to do something with your hair before you go."

Leandra wouldn't accept no for an answer, though truthfully Hawke didn't put up much of a fight. Anything to delay going to the Rose. Leandra fussed with her hair and dabbed some cosmetics onto her eyelids, lips, and cheeks. Hawke was certain she looked even more ridiculous afterward, but when Leandra fastened a plain but elegant forest green cloak around her shoulders and turned her toward their dwarfy audience for inspection, both Sandal and Bodahn beamed.

"Pretty!" Sandal exclaimed, clapping his hands together.

"You look very nice, Messere," Bodahn said, but he eyed Hawke's footwear with trepidation. "Are you – ah – certain you wouldn't like me to polish your boots up a bit before you go?"

"Boots?" Leandra said, peering down to frown at the scuffed toes of Hawke's muddy boots poking past the hem of her dress. "Andraste preserve me! Marian, you can't possibly go out in those!"

"I go out in them all the time! I don't see what the big deal is. They're comfortable and I can't walk in heels. No one's going to notice anyway."

"People certainly will notice you clomping about! I have some lovely embroidered slippers you can wear instead."

"They'll just get all muddy. I don't want to ruin your nice shoes, mother."

"Nonsense. It hasn't rained in days. Where did you say you were going, exactly?"

Hawke hemmed and hawed, fidgeting with her dress until Leandra batted her hands away and then eyed the dirt under Hawke's bitten nails. Hawke clasped her hands behind her to avoid giving her mother something else to fuss about.

"Marian, I don't care if you're meeting this secret someone of yours that you refuse to tell me anything about. I only hope I'll eventually be able to meet them before I grow old and die without seeing any of my children married," Leandra sighed, piling on the guilt expertly.

"Nobody's marrying anyone! He's just a friend. And you have met him," Hawke mumbled shiftily. She probably thought Hawke had been spending all those nights away from home with a lover. If she wasn't so stubborn, she would have been. Instead, she'd been getting drunk with Varric's cousin, pining needlessly – according to Denier – for months.

Leandra frowned, mentally running through Hawke's few male acquaintances. She couldn't remember if Leandra met Anders, and Hawke hadn't thought it prudent to bring up her fling with Isabela. There were many, many details in Hawke's life that she didn't want her mother privy to. Her sex life, or lack thereof, was definitely one of them.

"Do you mean Fenris? Or...oh! That handsome brother from the Chantry? Sebastian?" Leandra lit up, clasping her hands to her chest.

Hawke made a face and shook her head vehemently. Hawke didn't realize she'd backed herself into a corner until Leandra touched her lips with a thoughtful expression, leaving only one other option.

"Then it must be-"

"Time for me to go!" Hawke interrupted loudly. "Don't wait up for me." She hiked up her dress and all but ran for the front door, leaping over Snowflake's shoe and the suit of armor in a single bound.

"But your shoes!"

Hawke pretended not to hear her as she slammed the door closed behind her. Shit, she'd nearly given herself away. She knew Leandra liked Varric well enough, but she didn't know how she'd feel about him dating Hawke. It was probably for the best that he didn't come around the estate when Leandra was on the prowl and interrogating every eligible bachelor who happened to walk through the door.

Hawke tugged the hood up on her cloak as she hurried to the Rose, briefly forgetting her nervousness until she was already inside the building. She scouted the room and located her target instantly by the crossbow strapped to his back and whatever aggravatingly magnetic pull he had that caught Hawke up every time. Fortunately, Varric's back was to her so he didn't catch her stumble in a brief rush of panic. Denier was professional enough not to look in her direction and draw Varric's attention before she was ready.

She kept her head down to avoid recognition and took a seat at an empty table across the room to observe, but she was too far away to hear anything the pair was saying. She ordered a drink for appearance's sake and then three more when she decided her appearance needed heavy fortification. She kept finding her tankards empty whenever she reached for them and eventually asked for the bottle to be left at her table with a flash of coin.

Hawke ached all over watching Varric as he interacted with Denier and the staff. A gesture of his hand tugged an invisible string that was connected to her belly, a turn of his head made her heart flutter, and his throaty laugh that cut through the din of the tavern set all of her nerves burning. She didn't know how long she watched him, glued to her seat and trying to find the courage amidst the liquid in her cup.

She considered ordering food when the alcohol sloshed in her empty stomach, but she was so nervous she doubted she'd be able to keep anything down. Hawke's heart lurched when she saw Varric stretch his arms in the air before lacing his fingers together behind his head. That was one of the few tells of his that Hawke could read. It was a signal that Varric was ready to call it a night and smugly collect all of his winnings.

Denier's eyes briefly lifted to pin her with a pointed look over Varric's shoulder before his expression smoothed out and he gave Varric an exasperated grin as he handed over his winnings.

Hawke's breath caught in her chest and refused to dislodge. Her fight or flight instincts kicked in, and she had to catch herself against the table when she stumbled up from her seat. She blamed the dress for the less than graceful motion rather than the empty bottle and cups cluttering up the table. The twinge in her overfull bladder definitely had the drinks to blame. Varric pushed away from the table, and Hawke sensed her time running out. So she did the only thing she possibly could in this situation.

She ran.

Or, rather, she staggered into the back area of the Blooming Rose. She caught herself against the wall and sucked down several lungfuls of air that smelled like sex, baking bread, and the faintly acrid scent of urine. Hawke followed the last odor to the latrines so she could assuage the complaints of her bladder, if not the ones in her head demanding that she go back before it was too late.

If nothing else, it was far easier to piss wearing a dress rather than having to shuck off half her armor. Hawke locked herself in the water closet and wallowed in self-loathing and regret as she relieved herself. She was slow to realize the pounding she'd been hearing the past minute or so was at the door and not in her head.

"Occupied!" she yelled.

"Oy! Me bladder's about to burst! Get a room to fuck in like everyone else!" a man called back angrily, slamming his fist against the door hard enough to make it rattle in the frame.

"Can't someone take a piss without being interrupted?" Hawke jerked her dress down and ripped open the door with a snarl.

The man who had been knocking had bright red hair and an irritated scowl, but his annoyance quickly turned into surprise when Hawke's momentum sent her pitching forward into his chest. There were three other men standing behind him. Hawke thought for a minute they were waiting in line for the latrine as well before one of the men, younger with scraggly mutton chops, clapped the red-headed one on the shoulder with a laugh.

"Well, lookit that. It's yer lucky day, Willum. Yeh've got the whores fallin' into yer arms now."

"Don't mind 'im none, miss," the man, Willum, said. His scowl transformed into a grin when Hawke's hood fell back as he helped steady her on her feet. "Looks like someone's 'ad a bit too much to drink, eh? Perhaps me 'n these fine lads can 'elp ye back to yer room?"

The "fine lads" snickered and Hawke blinked. She tried to get a good look at their faces, but their features kept blurring. Willum squeezed her shoulder and Hawke remembered he'd asked her a question.

"No," Hawke said, shaking her head carefully. "I need..."

"What ye need is to lie down for a kip, if ye don' mind me sayin'," Willum said, still grinning. "I'll even let ye borrow my digs. No charge."

The men laughed again and elbowed each other as Willum drew Hawke further down the hallway before she could reason out why that might be a terrible idea. She stumbled over the hem of her dress, but Willum caught her with an arm around her waist. His grip tightened when Hawke pushed at him to give them space.

"Hey," she protested. "Leggo."

"Sure thing, pretty."

Willum's support suddenly disappeared. Hawke flailed wildly before falling in a heap of skirts and limbs onto a bed that had no business being in the middle of the hallway. She tried to focus and realized that she'd somehow ended up in one of the Rose's many bedrooms. She struggled to sit up when she heard the sound of a door closing and a latch being thrown.

"You really don't want to do this," Hawke said, attempting to infuse danger and warning into her tone. The implied threat was undercut by her clumsy fumblings when she knocked over a basin on the side table next to the bed as she tried to stand.

"Let me tell ye what I want," Willum said, his pleasant tone a jarring contrast to the hard push he gave Hawke's chest, shoving her back onto the bed. "For once, I'd like a bitch who knows 'ow to shut up and take what she's got comin' to 'er. Think you c'n do that, eh? Last girl I 'ad got a little too mouthy and went cryin' to 'er mistress when I gave 'er a love tap. Banned me an' the lads a solid month, and I gotta tell ye. I'm  _achin'._ "

Willum climbed onto the bed and knelt over Hawke, bracing himself on his hands and knees. He reached down to adjust himself with a leer. Hawke turned her head away and swallowed hard, trying not to vomit at the wash of hot, whiskey-scented breath over her face. "Besides, why pay when I c'n get it for free?"

Hawke couldn't move until Willum ran his knuckles down her cheek, and then she was struck by a literal knee-jerk reaction. Her knee jerked upward and slammed between Willum's legs as she shoved him off at the same time. He howled as Hawke flung herself away from the bed and toward the door. She pulled up short when Mutton Chops caught her by the back of her cloak and gave a swift yank, cutting off her air supply as the material strained against her throat. She scrabbled for the clasp and tore it off, freeing herself as she dove for the door. She wasted a precious second yanking at the knob, forgetting it was locked, and yelled as she was hauled back by two bruising sets of hands on her arms.

"Shut 'er up," Willum snarled, cupping himself with one hand as he stood and pointed at the bed with the other. "An' make sure she don't escape."

"No! Get off!" Hawke shouted until one of the men tore the scarf from around her neck and shoved the material into her mouth, tying the ends in a tight knot behind her head. She struggled and fought as she was thrown onto the bed again, but a solid backhand across the face dazed her. She was unable to resist as a leather belt was wound around her wrists before being secured to the headboard.

"Oh, what's this then? A rich little girl, eh? I bet ye have a dozen of these back at 'ome. Ye won't miss this one, right?"

One of the men laughed as he ripped the necklace Varric had given her from Hawke's throat, snapping the thick chain. Hawke let out a muffled yell behind her gag and fought all the harder against her restraints.

"There there," the fourth man, a brunette with a tattoo of a foreign flag on his arm, said. "Settle down. We won' 'urt ye none. We jus' want a little fun is all. That's what ye came 'ere for, right?"

Someone touched her leg and Hawke kicked out, making contact with her boot. Whoever was on the receiving end grunted, but Hawke's victory was short-lived when hands grabbed her ankles, forcing her legs wide apart.

"She's a feisty one, innit she, Boss?" the man at her right leg laughed when Hawke yelled behind her gag and thrashed. He patted her knee and then let out an interested hum when he found and took the dagger from her boot. "An' she came prepared, too!"

The sound of fabric ripping as he used her own dagger to slice through her dress sounded so loud that Hawke thought that someone surely had to have heard it. Hawke choked out a sob when a hand slid up the inside of her thigh. The men's raucous laughter burned her ears as they tossed out jokes about her being ready and wanting it when they discovered her lack of smallclothes.

Tears burned down the sides of her face as she fought a losing battle against her captors. She closed her eyes so she didn't have to see Willum's hungry, hateful expression as he untied the laces to his trousers. The bed creaked with his additional weight. Hawke tried desperately to go to another place in her mind when her tattered skirt was flicked up to her waist, ankles pinned apart by Willum's friends.

Hawke almost didn't hear the door splintering in a loud crunch over her muffled sobs, but she'd know the sound of a crossbow firing anywhere.

She jerked when Willum's full weight fell on top of her and started struggling anew. He didn't move thanks to the shaft of a bolt sticking out of the side of his head. One by one, the pressure disappeared from her ankles in conjunction with the sound of bolts firing and reloading. It was over in a matter of seconds, but Hawke didn't stop fighting until Willum's body was unceremoniously shoved off the bed and the  _snick_  of a knife cut through her leather restraints. Hawke yanked the scarf away from her face and threw her arms around her rescuer's neck, sobbing hysterically.

"Shh, sweetheart. I'm here," Varric soothed, holding her tight with one arm while the other held Bianca at the ready. "I'm so sorry I'm late, Hawke. Did they hurt you?"

Hawke didn't have the words to speak so she shook her head and clutched at his coat. She could still feel the phantom touch of hands on her and the revolting sensation of Willum's dick, hard even in death, rubbing against her as she struggled to get away. She couldn't stop shaking.

"She all right?" Hawke heard Denier say. She lifted her face from Varric's shoulder and saw him lingering in the doorway, but he wasn't looking at her. He was gazing down at the bodies with a queasy expression on his face. All four men were undeniably dead with one bolt each sticking out of them. "Dumb question. Forget I asked."

"What were you thinking, Hawke?" Varric reprimanded after he checked her all over to make certain she was unharmed. His hand cupped her bruised cheek gently despite the anger, fear, and accusation in his voice. "If Jethann hadn't come and gotten us when he did do you have any idea what could have happened to you?"

Jethann was an elven prostitute that worked at the Blooming Rose and one of the horniest people Hawke knew - Isabela included. Hawke had helped him out last year when one of his favorite clients, Ninette de Carrac, had gone missing. Only her severed hand and wedding band had been found. Jethann liked Hawke, even though she constantly turned down his offers to take him for a ride on the house. He could probably be trusted to be discreet…at least in this.

Hawke bit her lip and didn't say anything as she tried to pull away, but he only wrapped an arm around her waist and held her tighter. She felt the tension drain out of his body and his breath ruffle her hair as he sighed, relenting.

"Let's get you home, Hawke. Denier…"

"I'll take care of this mess. But it's probably best if both of ya don't come by for a while, just to be safe. Never know who might come sniffin' around askin' questions."

"I owe you one," Varric said as he holstered Bianca. He didn't bother to ask if Hawke could walk and scooped her up with one arm around her back and the other braced behind her knees. She'd gained a little weight back thanks to regular meals and Orana's cooking, but not enough that lifting her was a struggle for him.

"Don't worry about it. Just make sure she gets home safe," Denier said. He sounded sad but managed to quirk a tired smile at her when their eyes met. He leaned down and picked up the green cloak Leandra had given her, ruined now, like her dress. He tucked it around her shoulders to cover her up and gave her a comforting pat. "See ya around, Marian. Take care, ya hear?"

"I can still stab you," Hawke croaked out.

"I have no doubt. Take the back entrance through the kitchens, Var. Less chance of bein' seen."

"Thanks, cousin."

Fortunately, there weren't many people in the back area and Varric managed to get her outside without being seen. Hawke only wobbled a little when he set her down on her feet and adjusted the cloak so her torn dress was covered. She didn't know how the night had gone so terribly wrong or what to say when Varric took a step back and crossed his arms over his chest. He turned away from her so Hawke could only see his profile. The silence stretched between them and quickly became strained as the muggy night air and the still-fading rush of fear threatened to sober her.

"Varric, I-"

"What were you thinking?" Varric snapped like he'd been waiting for her to talk first just so he could interrupt.

"I was thinking I wanted to surprise you," she said defensively, feeling her hackles rise.

"Well, consider me surprised. What part of getting drunk and going into a backroom with four men sounded like a good idea to you?"

"I didn't do it on purpose! I drank a little more than I meant to and they basically caught me in the privy with my knickers down. Don't you dare blame me for what those men did, Varric."

"I don't blame you, Hawke. I blame  _them_. Their quick deaths were a mercy they didn't deserve, believe me. But you've made it quite clear you don't need me to be your keeper anymore," he said bitterly. He kicked a stone and sent it clattering down the alleyway.

"I wasn't trying to avoid you," Hawke said, fidgeting with the torn edges of her skirt as she watched the stone roll away.

"Six months without a word. Not one. What else am I supposed to think?" Varric said in an octave just below a shout. He finally turned toward her and flung his arms out wide. "You told me to give you space and I did. I wouldn't have agreed if I thought you'd meant forever."

"It's not forever! Since when do you ever listen to me anyway?" Hawke demanded, lifting her head and dropping her skirt to glare back at him.

"I can't win with you, Hawke. Not when you're this damned determined to self-destruct."

"So that's it then? Everything we've been through together and you're giving up just because I got a little drunk and made a mistake?"

"It's not just a little drunk! I've seen you take down that number of men while injured and unarmed. I think you might have a real problem, but I'll accept part of that blame on myself. Taverns aren't exactly conducive to sobriety, and I'm just as much a fixture in the Hanged Man as Corff and his terrible ale is."

"I'm a big girl, Varric. You've said so yourself. I can take responsibility for my own fuck ups. I don't need you making excuses for me."

"I've seen my mother walk down this road with her drinking and I know how it ends. I can't stand around and watch the same thing happen to you. I won't."

"But you would have let me be captured by darkspawn and raped by them instead?" Hawke shouted, voice breaking as she stepped forward and balled her hands into trembling fists. "I needed you and you weren't there!"

Hawke didn't know where this anger was coming from. Clearly, there was some lingering resentment she'd been suppressing. She'd been pushed to the edge and everything was starting to come unraveled. Varric  _knew_  she would have rather died than be taken by the darkspawn, but he'd still refused to take the shot. If Stroud and the other Grey Wardens hadn't been there, Hawke wouldn't even be human anymore. She'd be a living ghoul, grotesque and fat with her first brood of darkspawn. She didn't blame Varric for what happened in the Deep Roads, but his guilt weighed heavily on her all the same.

"You think I don't know that?" Varric said, looking gutted. "You think that doesn't haunt my every waking moment? I promised to protect you. Grey Wardens or no, you trusted me to save you from that fate, and I let you down. I don't expect you to forgive me, Hawke. I can't even forgive myself."

Hawke didn't know what to say or how to take her words back - if she even  _wanted_  to take them back. They've been putting off talking about a great many things for so long she'd begun to think they never would. The Deep Roads, Bartrand's betrayal, the pregnancy scare, Bethany, Anders, the estate…

Hawke had been burying this stuff for so long, one problem on top of the other, that the weight of her avoidance was crushing her. She'd tried to self-medicate, but somehow her drinking had turned into a crutch and then a liability that had come back to bite her in the ass. Hawke had no one else she could share her burdens with who would understand. Not really. Bethany was gone and there was a very real possibility she would never see her sister again. Hawke hadn't even begun to cope with that fact, much less everything else.

"I can't keep doing this with you," Varric said into the silence that lingered after his last statement. He sounded like someone who was having a confession wrung out of him after weeks, maybe even months, of resisting torture.

Hawke swallowed hard. She knew this day would come. She'd barged in, fucked everything up, and left his life in shambles without a backward glance. She knew Varric would eventually realize he was better off without her. Only, she hadn't expected that day to be today or for it to feel quite so much like someone had knocked all the air out of her with a sledgehammer. Hawke couldn't speak, not even to plead her case or try and change his mind. She looked at him then,  _really_  looked at him. She saw the bruises beneath his eyes, the lines of sadness etched into the corners of his mouth, the flecks of blood on the collar of his coat, and knew she'd done this to him. He had been so charming and full of life the day they'd met, and she'd turned him into this sad, broken shell of himself.

"So that's it then…" Hawke said quietly, wondering how she was supposed to move on and ever be all right again.

Hawke didn't know how to fix him, but at the very least she could let him go so he could try and piece together the tattered remains of his life. She wouldn't ask her mother to move, not with Bethany trapped here in Kirkwall, but Hawke could go. The Blight was over and Hawke had experience in home reparations now. She could return to Ferelden and help rebuild, or see if the new king's army would have her back. She was so  _tired_  of fighting, but at least she would be doing something useful. Maybe Isabela would want to come with her. At least for a while, before she eventually left Hawke too…

"I can't take you walking away a second time, Hawke," Varric said before she could start putting together a mental inventory of everything she'd need to take with her on a trip across sea. "If we're doing this, then I need you to promise me you'll stick it out the next time things get hairy. Because we both know they will. It's us. Weird shit is pretty much guaranteed."

"…You're not breaking up with me?"

Varric laughed a sharp, bitter sound that didn't reassure Hawke in the slightest.

"Hawke, if you haven't realized by now how crazy - literally, certifiably crazy - about you I am then I haven't been doing my job. Short of eloping or bringing you Bartrand's head on a platter, I don't know what more I can do to convince you I'm in this for the long haul. Whether we're a couple or not, you're still the best damned friend I've ever had. I'd be insane to want to lose any part of that."

"Make it Meredith's head and the Arishok's cock and we have a deal," Hawke said, because when did she not turn the most dire moments of her life into a set up for a punchline?

Varric's shoulders slumped and he chuckled tiredly, pressing fingers into the corners of his eyes before he managed to look up again. "I'll see what I can do, but you have to promise to meet me halfway. I mean it, Hawke. No more drinking. I might not be there to come to your rescue next time, but I'll try my damnedest to always have your back."

Hawke hated seeing him so worn down...so  _defeated_. Hawke didn't make friends or lovers like everyone else. She charged into relationships and took hostages. She didn't know how to be gentle or tender. She almost thought she could have been with Anders, but Maker. It still stung how badly she had misread that situation. Anders was another person she needed to make amends with. They had a relationship worth salvaging even if they couldn't be together the way Hawke had wanted. The thought of mending that broken bridge made her the kind of tired that leeched energy directly from her soul.

"Do I at least get to be weaned off?" Hawke asked desperately, unprepared to have an ultimatum flung at her after going half a year without seeing her best friend.

Giving up alcohol for good was one promise that she honestly didn't know if she'd be able to keep. All of her friends, with the exception of Anders and Sebastian, drank. The cellar at the estate was full of wine bottles and casks the slavers had actually left intact. Having a glass, or three, at dinner was nothing. She was constantly around temptation and couldn't guarantee she'd be able to resist indefinitely. She didn't think she had a problem, but tonight had proven her very, very wrong. She could still feel those men's hands on her and taste Willum's rancid breath in the back of her throat. She never wanted to feel that helpless ever again.

"I'm not cruel enough to ask you to go cold turkey. If it helps, I won't touch the stuff either."

"Maker, what am I thinking? I hope you know what it says about my own sanity that I'm even considering giving up drinking for you. Not even on special occasions?" she wheedled, wondering if she was really planning to live off sparkling cider and grape juice for the rest of her life, and not even the fermented kind.

"Not for me, Hawke. For you. I don't expect either of us not to slip up at some point. It won't be a death sentence for our relationship, but I don't want you to depend on it. I give you an inch..."

"I take the whole damned coastline. Yeah. I got it. Am I allowed one more drink to say goodbye to all of the fucking awful hangovers that led up to us getting together?"

"That's not an entirely unreasonable request," Varric relented, finally regarding her with some warmth in his expression. "I have a twenty-year-old bottle of brandy sitting on my bookshelf that I've been saving for a special occasion. I'm pretty damn sure this calls for it."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Neither of us is getting any younger."

"That reminds me. I've been sitting on your birthday present for months. Color me sentimental, but I wanted to give it to you in person."

"I hope you don't mean you've been sitting on it literally. Or, wait, is it more knickers?" Hawke teased, looping her arm in Varric's as they started walking down the alley before someone found them loitering outside the scene of the crime. "Or—oh shit!"

"What is it?" Varric asked, concerned.

"My necklace!" Hawke cried as her hand flew to her throat. "We have to go back!"

"Wait a minute, Hawke. We can't go back in there," Varric said, catching her by the wrist before she could run back inside. "Guards will be swarming all over the place by now. Which necklace did you lose?"

"The one you gave me! I wore it tonight, but one of the men took it." Hawke eyes filled helplessly with tears as she looked back toward the Blooming Rose. "I can't just leave it there. It's too important."

"It's  _nothing_ , Hawke," Varric said, startling her when he reached for her hands and turned her away. "I don't care if you lost the king's vault in there. Nothing is worth losing you."

Hawke didn't agree, but she knew arguing would be useless.

She hated herself all over again for how badly she managed to mishandle the situation. The entire night had been a disaster. She was tempted to blame the dress. If Varric had recognized her sooner she would have never gone off on her own, but Hawke had no one to blame but herself. She really hadn't meant to drink so much. She could drink all night and hit a pinhole across the room with a knife when she paced herself, but nerves and Lusine's brew had caught up with her before she realized she needed to slow down.

Varric escorted her in the opposite direction of the estate which meant "home" would be the Hanged Man tonight. Hawke was glad because she didn't want her mother to see the state of her dress. The fresh air and the walk to Lowtown did much to sober her up. They walked in companionable silence while Hawke tried to organize her thoughts.

Corff nodded to them both when they entered the Hanged Man, unsurprised to see Hawke again after her long absence. As promised, Varric didn't stop to chat or grab drinks before he ushered Hawke upstairs. He unlocked the door to his room and waited for her to go inside first, but she paused at the doorway. For some reason, she'd been expecting his suite to look exactly the way it had when they'd returned from the expedition, locked in time and unchanged.

Clearly, she wasn't the only one who'd been doing upgrades.

Not much looked different at first glance. He had the same red and gold décor and cluttered bookshelves, but Hawke had sat down at the worn, comfortable table, desk, and bed enough times to know they'd been replaced by newer, even more comfortable versions. The furniture was glossy with fresh polish, and his rugs were also new. They looked thick and soft enough to sleep on, Hawke noted ironically. It figured since she wouldn't be passing out drunk on his floor anymore.

He'd had several wall sconces installed that made the room warm and bright. Best of all, he had  _plumbing._  Not even her fancy new estate with all of its expensive renovations had indoor plumbing. Hawke sat down on the edge of the tub and investigated all of the fancy spouts and spigots while Varric put Bianca on her display stand and went to fix their promised drinks.

"How much did this cost you?" she asked as she fiddled with a few levers. She sighed with jealousy when hot water began pouring out of the faucet and filling the tub at a rapid rate.

"Not more than an entire estate," Varric teased. "I keep offering to buy this place from Corff, but he's not budging."

"That's because you would kick everyone out and only let in the people who actually believe your bullshit stories."

"What bullshit stories? I'll have you know everything I say is one-hundred percent factual."

"Then what's this rumor I've been hearing about me riding a dragon? I suppose you had nothing to do with that?"

"No believes a storyteller when they say it happened to them. This was before I heard about your attempt to ride an elvhen spider monster, but no one even knows what a varterral  _is_. I figured someone should get credit for that stunt. It's always more credible if it happens a guy who knows a guy. People will convince themselves it was actually their brother's best friend or the cousin of a merchant who sold them bread down the street."

"You realize that makes absolutely no sense."

"I don't make the rules," Varric shrugged.

Admittedly, even Hawke had a hard time believing Varric -  _Varric_  - had jumped off a twenty metre high platform and onto the back of a grown dragon, and she had been there. It was probably the dumbest, most exciting thing he had ever done. Of course he would give her all the credit and take none for himself.

"This cost almost a year's salary," he said wistfully as he came over with two glasses balanced in one hand and the bottle of brandy, still half full, in the other. He looked at the crystal decanter apologetically before he upended the remaining contents over the floor drain.

"What are we thinking?" Hawke groaned, watching him commit blasphemy with a feeling akin to someone drowning a puppy right in front of her.

"I'm thinking…here's to us," Varric said. He set down the empty bottle and handed her a glass with only two fingers of amber liquid swirling around the bottom. This was supposed to last Hawke the rest of her life? Maker preserve her. She had no doubt something would come up sooner or later to make her regret agreeing to give up this particular vice, but it was one promise she'd try her best to keep.

"Here's to us," Hawke said. She clinked her glass against Varric's and threw back the brandy in one swig.

"Quality booze should be savored not chugged, you heathen!" Varric protested, appalled.

Hawke snatched the glass out of his hand and downed that one, too.

"Hey!"

"No takebacks! This was it!" Hawke teased, leaning out of reach when Varric tried to lunge for the empty glass. The potency of the brandy, on top of still being more than a little drunk from earlier, served to overbalance Hawke. She dropped the glass where it hit the floor with a shatter and grabbed onto Varric's coat as they both plunged headfirst into the bath fully-clothed.

The water was hot but thankfully not scalding. Hawke had a brief moment where she was certain she was going to drown, tangled in her dress, cloak, and Varric's flailing limbs before he grabbed her and hauled her up gasping and spluttering.

"Don't you think you  _might_  have overreacted?" Hawke coughed as she flopped over the edge of the tub to catch her breath.

"That brandy was almost older than you are, Hawke," Varric growled, shutting off the water with hard, jerky movements before he stripped out of his sodden clothing. The leather was very likely ruined, but he could afford replacements.

"Are you sure about this whole sobriety thing? Neither of us is going to be a picnic to be around without a drink in our hands."

"Nice try. I really think it'll be for the best, but don't quote me on that when I'm in the peak of withdrawal."

"I'm not looking forward to it myself," Hawke sighed. Her drinking had been excessive before, but this past year she'd gotten blackout drunk more often than not. If Varric was anything like her, then he probably hadn't handled their split any better than she had.

"We'll get through this together," Varric promised, resting a hand between her shoulder blades and rubbing her back through the now thoroughly destroyed fabric of her dress. "Let's say we get out of these wet clothes first and worry about everything else later, okay?"

"If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were prepositioning me." Hawke glanced over her shoulder at him and smirked. She intentionally used the incorrect term just to watch him try to suppress the urge to correct her. He rolled his eyes instead.

"That's new," Varric said after Hawke stood and undressed.

"This?" Hawke glanced down and lightly touched her ribs. The skin around the squiggled verse was still a little red and irritated. She never did go to Anders for healing, but she doubted she was in danger of blood poisoning any longer.

"The tattoo's nice, but how'd that happen?" Varric clarified, dismissing Hawke's new artwork in favor of the ugly, knotted scar on her thigh. He reached out to touch the pink, puckered edges but stopped before he made contact like he was worried he'd hurt her. Or like he wasn't sure he was allowed to touch anymore.

"Raider attack," Hawke said, finishing the motion for him and stroking her thigh. "One of them hit me with an axe. I had to sew it up myself while Merrill ran and got her Keeper to heal it."

Thankfully, it was the only major scar she'd acquired recently. She'd gotten better at ducking - and flying - after making an effort to practice more often with Aveline and Isabela. Varric's initial resistance disappeared as he ghosted his fingers very lightly over the scar, tracing the puckered edges like he could smooth out the ugly knots if he willed it hard enough.

"Not Anders?" Varric asked softly.

"We haven't spoken since…" Hawke touched her stomach briefly before letting her hand and words trail away. "I'm afraid you weren't the only one I've been avoiding lately. I'm…really not very good at this whole talking stuff out like a grown up thing."

"I'd noticed," Varric said wryly before reaching up to tug her down into the bath. She tucked herself against his side and he left his hand resting on her thigh over the scar. "He actually kept his word and comes to every Wicked Grace night."

Hawke winced, uneasy at the thought of her usual place at Varric's table sitting empty for months on end while he and Anders stuck it out, hoping that she'd come back one day. "I'm sorry I haven't been around. He probably thinks I blame him and regrets ever coming here with us."

"Do you?"

"Do  _you_?"

"Don't answer a question with a question, Hawke," Varric chided, squeezing her thigh. "I asked you first."

"No. I don't blame him. And I don't regret anything we did together. I didn't mean to hurt either of you or stay away for so long. I hope he knows that."

"Only Blondie…and Justice…know what goes on inside that head of his. You can even ask him yourself. Say the word and I'll round the gang up."

"Sorry, but I'm afraid I've moved on to your cousin," Hawke said loftily, trying to hide the pang of anxiety the thought of seeing Anders again gave her. She wouldn't even be able to get drunk beforehand to mitigate that particular level of awkwardness. "At least Denier doesn't cheat."

"Yeah, and he's terrible at cards, too. You two were clearly made for each other."

"I don't know. He's not so bad," Hawke teased. "He has a proper beard and everything, unlike a certain dwarf I know."

"But he doesn't have nearly my charm or good looks," Varric said, running a hand over his impressive chest hair which was, admittedly, a very good case in point.

"I guess I'll hang around then," Hawke said, pressing a kiss to Varric's stubbly jaw as she scratched her fingers through that thick pelt.

"So tell me about this," he said. He left his hand on her thigh and reached out with the other to cup her waist, stroking the last line of Hawke's tattoo with his thumb.

Hawke arched into the touch before leaning back so he could look his fill of her. Maker, how had she lasted so long without feeling or talking to him? She should have gone crazy with longing after one week. Her skin prickled and she felt his gaze like a physical sensation. She had to swallow to clear her throat before she could speak.

"I got it after the fight with a varterral on Sundermount, which I'm sure you've heard all about. I tried to ride the thing, but it didn't quite work out the way I'd planned. I think you made it look easier than it actually is," Hawke accused, saying nothing when Varric looked both smug and concerned as he continued to rub the raised, crimson lines.

"What does it say?"

"Oh, just Merrill declaring her undying love. You know, the usual."

"I can't say I'm not a little jealous," Varric said. dragging his hand upward to cup her breast and tweak her nipple with his thumb. "Killing monsters without me on top of getting a tattoo, your very own Hightown estate,  _and_  a new archer. Don't think I don't know about you adding Choir Boy to the roster _._  I was beginning to feel like a relic."

Hawke closed her eyes gave a shuddering sigh when he kissed her neck. She wanted to feel him everywhere, scouring every inch of her until he erased the memory of those men's hands on her, but the thought of having sex after what happened at the Rose made the heat in her belly turn to ice.

"Varric…" Hawke said reluctantly, pulling away.

Varric looked instantly contrite. He removed his mouth and hands from her body, but Hawke wrapped her arms around his neck before he got it into his head that she needed space. She'd had enough bloody  _space_  to last her a lifetime. She kissed him, a soft, chaste brush of lips that made everything right in the world again for a brief moment. She smiled and leaned their foreheads together when he breathed out a sigh. He wound his arms around her waist, keeping her close but not pressing for anything more.

"Maker, I've missed you, Hawke."

"Why not get something to remember me by then?" Hawke suggested, skipping over the sentimentality and jumping right back into their earlier conversation as if there'd been no interruption, which was a specialty of hers. "Sebastian's a stick in the mud, but I know you like to live life on the edge. What do you say? How about getting an ill-advised tattoo with me?"

"Hawke, I already told you I'm not tattooing your name on my ass."

"It doesn't have to be on your ass. We can get some more of Merrill's squiggles on us." Hawke slipped into Varric's lap and threaded her fingers in his hair. "C'mooon."

His hands clenched against her hips when Hawke gave a tantalizing wiggle. She knew she had him when he groaned and tipped his head back against the edge of the tub to swear silently up at the Maker and his ancestors in turn. "On one condition."

Hawke shouted her victory and punched a fist into the air before she leaned down and gave him a firm kiss. "Anything. You got it."

"Make up with Anders so we actually have a healer on hand before we let Daisy start poking at us with needles." Hawke sat back in his lap and frowned when Varric picked his head up and lifted an eyebrow. "Well? Do we have a deal?"

"Serves me right. You always did tell me to learn the terms before agreeing to anything," Hawke grumbled, scrubbing her hair in frustration.

"You're making a bigger thing out of it than it actually is. Blondie's not going to bite."

"That's the problem. What if I want him to?" Hawke said, but she didn't really mean it. She'd learned a valuable lesson about consent that night. The last thing she wanted to do was force or guilt Anders into anything he was uncomfortable with or put him at odds with Justice. She could love him as a friend, but first she had to start with  _being_  a better friend.

"Fine. I'll talk to him. But you're getting that tattoo, Varric."

"You won't mind if I get Bianca's name with a heart around it on my chest, right?"

"If you want me to drown you in your own bathtub, be my guest."

Varric grinned and tugged her back against him so they could cuddle. Hawke sat in his lap with her head pillowed on his shoulder while his hands ran soothing paths up and down her back. She nearly dozed off right there, breathing in the scent of leather, sandalwood, and ink. She finally felt at home for the first time in months. She would have gladly given up all of her vices for the chance to be in his arms again, but she'd start with her drinking since that would be hard enough. She'd missed him so badly that she tried to drown the ache with anything she could until she'd become dependant on alcohol simply to function through the pain.

As terrible as it was, she didn't even miss Bethany to that degree. She loved her sister and there would always be a hole missing in Hawke where Bethany resided, but she'd embraced her life at the Circle and didn't need Hawke anymore. She could to do magic openly and was praised for her talents after having to hide them for so long.

The templars and Meredith were a big downside, but Cullen kept his word and passed Bethany's letters to her when he had the chance. Hawke didn't have the urge to kiss the Knight-Captain again, but she suspected he didn't mind. While giving his report, Cullen's face softened and his eyes lit up whenever he spoke of Bethany's work in the Circle and her progress with the younger apprentices. Hawke didn't know if he was aware he did so, but she hoped for both their sakes Cullen and Bethany were being discrete.

Relationships, especially ones between templars and mages, were forbidden in the Circle. The last thing she wanted was another situation like the one with Anders and Karl. If anything happened to Bethany, Hawke really would burn the entire tower down with Cullen and everyone else inside.

"How are you doing, sweetheart?" Varric said softly against her ear like was trying not to wake her when the water had begun to cool. "Hungry? Sore? Tired?"

Hawke had been wondering how long he'd be able to restrain himself before he started inevitably fussing. She smiled at the burst of affection that warmed her chest and kissed his shoulder without opening her eyes or moving her head. "All the above? But I think you mentioned something about a present? Actually, you definitely did."

"You and your priorities, Hawke. I'm afraid it's not a pair of socks, so try not to get your hopes up."

"That's too bad. Socks would have gone great with Snowflake's present."

"I hear he's fond of leaving 'presents' on the Chantry's steps. I wonder who taught him that."

"If I catch anyone else shitting in front of the Chantry, I'll let you know."

He cradled Hawke against his chest as he leaned over to pull out the tub's plug to drain the bathwater. He helped her out, being careful not to let either of them step on broken shards from the glass Hawke had dropped. She stood there drowsily as Varric propped her up against the wall and toweled her off. He brought her one of his tunics to sleep in and Hawke leaned down so he could pull it on over her head. She filled out his clothing only slightly better than she once had, but he didn't have any fancy knickers for either of them. He probably hadn't planned on his night ending up with Hawke in his room and in his good graces again.

He sat her down at the table where he had a platter of bread, fruit, and cheeses set out. The spread looked like it'd already been picked over, which meant he'd been too busy or too distracted to go downstairs for an actual meal. He must have canceled room service after Hawke left. She knew he preferred to take his meals in the tavern so he could be in the center of all the hubbub and gossip.

He quickly made a bottle of wine vanish off the table and replaced it with a pitcher of water. Hawke knew she was making the same face Snowflake did at vegetables and popped a few grapes in her mouth as a poor substitute. Varric went to the chest at the foot of his bed while Hawke helped herself to a cheese-stuffed roll and faced off against the pitcher of water until he returned with two vases in hand.

"Is this so I stop throwing up in yours?" Hawke asked suspiciously as he placed them on the table in front of Hawke.

"That's only a bonus. I had the ones you found in the Deep Roads repaired," he said, gesturing to the vases with a flourish.

They were round and squat with wide mouths - obviously made with dwarves in mind. The broken pieces of pottery had been glued together with gold filament and painted with swirls of blue and green glaze. They weren't big enough to use as a chamberpot, but she liked the idea of something that had been shattered in the Deep Roads getting a second life in a form more unique and beautiful than the original.

"I have one more thing," Varric said, taking her hand when she was finished eating and leading her away from the table.

"Careful, or you'll spoil me," Hawke warned.

"A little TLC never hurt anyone." He stopped in front of his dresser and pulled out a drawer, only to reveal that it was empty. She looked from the drawer and back to him, waiting for something to jump out at her. Like a clue, perhaps.

"Is there a fake bottom or something?" Hawke asked, confused.

"No, but I can probably put one in. It's for you. To keep your clothes and stuff. If you want," Varric added almost awkwardly.

Hawke stared at him. "I get a fancy new estate in Hightown, spend a fortune on renovations, and  _now_  you're asking me to move in with you? Unbelievable!"

"I told you I'd been sitting on it for a while!" Varric said defensively. "I'd have done it sooner, but it's not like either of us actually wore clothes when we were in here."

And then she'd gone AWOL for half a year, but he'd still kept his drawer empty, waiting for her to come back any day. Right.

"Thank you," Hawke said, pulling him in for a kiss before she could feel anymore like a fuck up. He gently cupped her bruised cheek, deepening the kiss until she was nearly bent over double in an attempt to wrap herself around him.

"Bed?" he suggested as he reluctantly pulled away. "It's been a long night and I'm sure we both could use the rest."

Hawke wondered if he suspected how poorly she'd been sleeping. Perhaps he was in the same boat; a big, empty bed with no one to chase away the nightmares didn't exactly make sleep appealing. Passing out drunk wasn't the same thing, but it had worked as a halfway decent substitute for a while.

"I could sleep for a year," Hawke admitted, letting herself be drawn down into the bed.

He fussed with her pillows and tucked her in snugly after she slid beneath the cool, crisp sheets. She didn't know what fabric or thread count the bedding was, but the sheets were so soft and slippery that she was glad Varric anchored her in otherwise she might've slid right back out. He climbed in on the other side of the spacious bed and they met in a tangle of limbs and lips in the middle.

Despite being tired, sleep eluded them as they caught each other up on what had been going on in their respective lives. One anecdote led to another until both of their voices were scratchy from overuse.

"You made it into  _Hightown_ ," Varric marveled, smoothing his hand over Hawke's hip while she rested her head on his chest, lulled by the sound of his heartbeat and the rumble of his voice beneath her ear. "I'd expect anyone else to get complacent. But you...you must have plans."

Hawke couldn't fathom running off to Ferelden now, not when she would be leaving so much left undone in Kirkwall. Everyone she cared about was here and, for better or worse, she was willing to stick it out for the time being. She didn't try to kid herself into thinking that having Varric back in her life wasn't a big chunk of why she'd changed her mind. She didn't know how one person could feel so much like home, but where she went Varric – or his spies – were certain to follow, and vice versa. She wouldn't want it any other way.

"No plans yet. I'm simply trying to look out for my mother. And I know you knew about Bethany being taken to the Circle. I'm still pissed that you kept it from me, by the way," she said, pinching his nipple viciously. He hissed and grabbed her hand, moving it a safe distance so both of their hands rested over his heart.

"No more secrets, Hawke. I swear," Varric said, squeezing her hand tight.

Hawke wasn't going to hold him to that particular promise. She suspected some aspects of their relationship would fare better if they didn't know certain things about each other, like how far Varric's protective streak actually extended. Ignorance was bliss in some cases, and she liked to be able to claim reasonable doubt in case she ever faced interrogation.

"I know why you did it, but you can't keep treating me like I'm going to break. If  _you_  don't believe in me, then I'm seriously fucked."

"Hawke, I'll be your biggest fan until the day I die. I never stopped believing in you for a second. To be honest, I thought there might be a chance you'd want to go back to Ferelden now that things have calmed down. It's good to hear you're sticking around," Varric said. His flippant tone failed to cover up the way his heartbeat shivered before smoothing out once again.

"What would I do without my trusty dwarf? I'd cry myself to sleep without you." Hawke nuzzled his jaw to downplay the uncomfortable amount of truth in that statement.

"Oh, don't get all teary-eyed on me, Hawke. You know I can't stand to see a human cry."

"Denier said you cried. All the time. Every time he saw you," Hawke lied.

"Actually... That's probably not too far from the truth. Poor guy. I should send him some flowers or something."

"He'd probably think they were from an assassin and freak out."

"You're probably right. I'll buy him a round the next time I see him," Varric said without thinking.

They both tensed and let out a groan at the same time.

"Shit. This abstinence thing is going to be harder than I thought," Varric muttered. "I'm going to have to start carrying a flask of apple juice around with me. I can't be seen turning down a drink even if it is Corff's piss water. My reputation would never recover."

"So we're really doing this, huh?" Hawke said, hoping Varric might reconsider the whole thing.

"Seems like."

Hawke was going to have to find a new hobby to distract her. Or else never leave Varric's bed again. His gentle kisses and the warm caress of his hands was plenty distracting. Varric kept everything above the waist despite the erection that brushed against her hip every now and then. She didn't ask if he'd taken any other partners while she'd been gone. She'd fantasized about him and Anders together, but without her as the focal point she didn't know if there was any honest attraction between them.

Hawke started to reach for his cock despite her earlier misgivings, but he gently caught her wrist. She swallowed hard when his thumbs caressed the angry red marks left behind from her restraints, tracing bruises from harsh fingers that had held her down.

Hawke felt no violence in his touch, but judging from the tensing of his body against hers she knew he desperately wanted to kill those men all over again. Hawke found that she didn't mind putting off sex for a little while longer. They had skipped right past the courting stage of their relationship and jumped into bed together without a backward glance. It was nice not to have any expectations other than the promise Hawke made to curb her drinking and work things out with him instead of running away again.

Hawke had never considered herself a coward, but fleeing in order to protect herself and her family was in her blood. She'd never felt safe enough to stop. She felt safe now, warm and wrapped up in Varric's arms with the world on pause outside of his door. Even though Hawke could take care of herself, it was a relief to let Varric be the responsible one again.

Being an adult was highly overrated anyway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My original novel, Spooning Leads to Forking, is now available in paperback format:[ HERE](https://www.amazon.com/Spooning-Leads-Forking-Romance-Story-ebook/dp/B079HZXTH5/ref=sr_1_4?ie=UTF8&qid=1518646348&sr=8-4&keywords=spooning+leads+to+forking)! You also get a free digital copy with your purchase! :)


	16. Chapter 16

Waking up in Varric's bed wasn't nearly as disorienting an experience as Hawke thought it would be after so many mornings spent dragging her sorry carcass off the floor. The hangover was the same as it always was, but the throbbing in her head was no match for the sweet ache in her heart that correlated directly to the tightness of Varric's arms around her and his soft breaths in her ear.

Hawke had her face mashed against his neck and her nose pressed against the smooth strip of skin behind his ear. Her lips lingered over the pulse in his throat beating out a steady rhythm of sleep. His windowless room was almost uncomfortably warm, but she'd eeled around him anyway. Her arms had him in an equally unbreakable hold and she'd tangled their legs together like her subconscious had taken precautions to prevent his escape.

Joy and gratitude infused every inch of her, masking the awfulness of the previous day and allowing Hawke to float in bliss. She cherished every sensation from the warmth of his lips brushing her cheek to his morning wood prodding her hip and down to her shins where his toenails scratched uncomfortably, in dire need of a clipping. She hoped his insensibly luxurious bed swallowed them whole and never spit them out again.

Hawke's stomach and bladder had other plans, however, and languishing in bed was not one of them. She felt Varric's lips twitch when her stomach gave a plaintive growl, unhappy with the handful of grapes and roll that had been her only sustenance yesterday. Conversely, her bladder begged to be emptied, full to the point of bursting.

"Morning, Hawke." Varric's voice was soft and rumbly with sleep as he gently kissed her cheek, still sore from being struck yesterday. He sounded like he'd been waiting his entire life to say those words. It was a ridiculously sentimental thought and nearly brought tears to her eyes anyway.

"I need to piss," Hawke mumbled back, stomping those sentimentalities flat and burying them down deep where they belonged.

"And eat, it sounds like." Varric chuckled when her stomach groaned in agreement. He rolled over onto his back but kept one arm wrapped around her so she could snuggle against his side. "Sleep well?"

"Mmm. You're going to have to kick me out of this bed. I'll be needing the contact information of whoever made your sheets. They're positively sinful." Hawke was completely willing to delay getting up until the protests of her body became too much to ignore.

"They're still unspoiled. Thought I'd save the sinning part until you got back." Varric smiled up at the ceiling with his eyes still closed.

Hawke hummed and stroked her palm across his chest and down the firm curve of his stomach. He intercepted her hand and held onto it before she could venture any lower. She made a frustrated sound and bit his shoulder in reproach, but he didn't seem to be changing his mind about taking their time before jumping back into bed together - metaphorically speaking.

"Wish I could say the same for my sheets," Hawke said wistfully, hoping to get him riled up enough to reconsider. "Isabela surprised me with the biggest cock I've ever seen for my birthday. I couldn't sit down for two days afterward much less look at another phallus, artificial or not."

Despite being only half-awake, she hoped he could read between the lines and hear everything she wasn't saying. Save for Isabela on a singular, special occasion, there hadn't been anyone else in Hawke's life. Or in her bed. She was Varric's, body, heart, and soul if he'd still have her. But she wondered, had he...?

"I'm afraid Messere Five-Fingers and I have become very well-acquainted as of late."

Hawke snorted out a laugh, covering her relief by lifting his hand to her lips and pressing sleepy kisses to the tips of his fingers. "I'm prepared to fight him for you, but I think we can come to some kind of arrangement."

"Sounds like a great plan to me."

Varric cracked open one eye and traced her bottom lip with his thumb, transcribing the curve of her smile onto his own lips. He caught her chin and tilted her head back for a soft, closed-mouth kiss that managed to be sweet despite whatever had crawled into Hawke's mouth and died that morning. She was going to miss getting drunk with a fervent passion, but waking up clear-headed and not feeling as if she'd been trampled by a herd of halla would be a novelty. Her stomach rumbled again, refusing to be forgotten in the haze of bliss.

"Duty calls." Varric conceded to her body's complaints even if Hawke was determined to ignore them for as long as humanly possible. He pressed one more kiss to her lips before extricating himself from her tentacle-like grasp.

"With all of your fancy new plumbing, I'm surprised you haven't found a way to summon food without ever leaving your bed." Hawke watched him unabashedly as he swung his legs over the edge of the bed and sat there for a minute to collect his bearings. He scrubbed a hand through his loose hair before tying it up in its usual half-tail, yawning big enough to crack his jaw.

"If I get fat I'll only have you to blame."

Hawke hummed and reached out to trace a line down his spine. The vertebrae weren't nearly as pronounced as they had been after their escape from the Deep Roads, but he was still thinner than he used to be. He'd gotten back most of his muscle mass, but Hawke wouldn't mind fattening him up a bit. It was too bad she was such a poor chef, but she already had plans to introduce him to Orana's cooking.

"Any requests?" he asked.

Hawke was startled away from her inner musings when her fingers reached the delightful dimples framing his tailbone, edging into dangerous territory.

"Nuh-uh." He glared over his shoulder and caught her hand before it reached the crease of his ass. "That's still off-limits."

"One of these days, Varric..."

"In your dreams, Hawke. Now, what do you want to eat?"

"If I say a mimosa and a nice, thick sausage will you kick me out of bed?"

"Never," Varric promised, shoulders shaking as he tried not to laugh. "Let's just stick with the basics for breakfast. As for the other stuff... There's no rush. I'm perfectly content to wait it out with Messere Five-Fingers for the time being."

He leaned over and brushed a kiss against her forehead before he got up to search for his clothes. Hawke had been looking forward to having a truly obscene amount of make up sex, but after yesterday's incident she could understand the hesitation. She had gotten good at suppressing trauma over the years, but she probably wouldn't be nearly as fine if Varric had arrived thirty seconds later. Even so, she was ready to move on and recover for lost time.

Hawke heeded the call of nature and washed up while Varric puttered around the room getting dressed. Rather than follow suit, she flopped back onto the bed and burrowed into the blankets, taking up as much room as possible. His bed was insensibly comfortable and Hawke was tempted to doze off again after he left to retrieve their food with a promise to return as quickly as possible.

Try as she might, sleep eluded her. She turned her face into the pillow and inhaled Varric's scent. She was still wearing the tunic he'd loaned her, but the ridiculous neckline exposed more than it covered. She was hot and worked up in response to Varric's nearness and refusal to play. She reached down and shoved the blankets off in hopes of cooling down to a more manageable level.

He couldn't have been gone longer than a quarter hour, but it felt like forever. The throb between her legs was growing more insistent and Hawke wasn't known for her patience. She buried her face in the pillow and stroked herself through the soft silk of his tunic. Her nipples peaked against her fingertips and damp heat seeped through the fabric barely covering the tops of her thighs as she palmed her mound. Varric had never made her feel anything except safe and wanted. The relief of knowing he forgave her and still wanted her was the biggest turn on of all.

She closed her eyes when she heard the cadence of boots in the hallway that she knew as well as her own heartbeat and the creak of the door hinges Varric refused to oil so no one could sneak up on him in his room. She heard the footsteps pause inside the doorway as if they'd hit a wall. Hawke had to smother a grin at the sound of a muffled groan when she spread her knees apart and stroked the soft skin of her inner thighs, feeling the weight of another's gaze on her like a physical touch.

The paralysis must have been only temporary since the door swung shut and she heard the clatter of a heavy tray being set down. There was a quiet intake of breath when she teased the crisp curls over her sex, already slick and hot to the touch. She parted her folds with her fingers and made a noise too soft to count as a groan, but loud enough for a dwarf to hear - if the raspy "Maker, Hawke" she received in response was any indication.

Hawke arched into her hands and tugged the neckline of Varric's tunic aside to bare one breast. She squeezed and kneaded her handful like dough as she dipped two fingers inside her soaking wet cunt and made slick circles around her clit. She pretended to be completely unaware of his presence and took her time exploring. She pinched her nipple and clit between her fingers and rolled both hardened nubs until breath burst out of her in the shape of a moan. The footsteps ventured further into the room but didn't come any closer than the writing desk positioned directly across from the bed.

"Enjoying the view?" Hawke panted when she opened her eyes and saw Varric watching her hungrily, food forgotten. She abandoned her breast and rucked up the tunic to trace circles on her bare stomach as her other hand continued to stroke between her legs.

"What if someone else had walked in?" Varric's attempt to sound reproachful was invalidated by the dazed look in his eyes and the way he couldn't tear his gaze away.

"Then they would have gotten a free show."

The only other people who would barge into Varric's room unannounced were either assassins or Isabela. Hawke had been willing to take her chances on either possibility, but there was a knife tucked under the pillow just in case. Varric didn't try to touch her or join in, content to play his role as the dutiful audience member and watch her intently. She thrived off being the center of attention, but the silence was unnerving.

"Talk to me, Varric," Hawke demanded breathlessly, throwing her head back as she ground against her fingers with a moan.

"Maker, Hawke. Look at you." Varric's voice was warm and rich like melted chocolate being poured over her skin. "I wish you could see yourself. You look..."

Hawke felt herself tense, hand stilling for a brief instant.

"... _beautiful_. Breathtaking. How did I get so lucky?"

"You cheated." Hawke laughed softly to hide her discomfort.

She didn't mind being watched during moments like this, but she'd always hated when others commented on her appearance. She'd gotten her height and terrible sense of humor from her father, but she was all too aware of the striking blue eyes, pale complexion, and aristocratic bone structure she'd inherited from her mother. Hawke did her best to hide her more delicate features behind a scowl and the blood-red slash of kaddis on her face. She kept her hair shorn, had lean muscle in place of soft curves, and wore her scars like a badge of honor.

Honestly, she didn't get the appeal.

Bethany had always been the pretty sister, sweet-faced and petite with curves that made Hawke want to throw a shawl over her shoulders before letting Bethany out in public. Hawke had been just fine being the boyish one who scrapped with Carver in the yard and tripped over her coltish limbs while growing up. Despite her rough edges, boys had liked her because she could keep up and played like they did without crying when she got a little scraped up. She'd been a lot of boys' first kiss back then, but their interest in her eventually waned as they found the pink-cheeked girls in their village more appealing and less likely to leave them with bruises. Hawke didn't blame them; she'd kissed more than her share of village girls as well.

Varric was the first dwarf she'd ever been with, though. They were complete opposites, except in all the ways they were exactly alike. He brought out the best in her - and she the worst in him - yet somehow they still managed to find a balance.

"Why don't you tell me what you'd like to do to me?" Hawke suggested, voice breathy and drawn as she pressed a finger inside her tight passage.

"Oh, sweetheart. There is nothing that I don't want to do to you." Varric's low, throaty rumble sent a volley of shivers up and down her spine, centering between her legs. "Do you want me to tell you that I can't decide if I love seeing you touch yourself, your lips and cheeks flush with passion, or watching you ride my dick more? I wish you could see yourself all open and wet and  _wanting_..."

Hawke gasped and worked her hand faster, stuffing three fingers as deep inside herself as she could. She could feel the slick dripping down her thighs, making a mess of Varric's virginal sheets, but it didn't seem like he minded.

"I want to come on your dick," Hawke begged.

It'd been a small eternity since she'd had any part of Varric inside of her. It seemed an unforgivable sin – one she was desperate to rectify, but she doubted either of them would last long enough to make that happen. Abstinence didn't grant much in the realm of stamina. Varric was probably as repressed as one dwarf could get, especially if he'd been waiting all this time for Hawke to come around. Hawke groaned in frustration, keeping herself on the edge so he could bring her over with his words, if not his touch.

"Is that what you want?" Varric purred, voice surrounding her even though he didn't take a step closer. "You want me to fill you up? Pump you full of my come until it's dripping out of you?"

Hawke whined and bit her lip to keep from making further sounds. She closed her eyes and strained her hearing, not wanting to miss a word.

"Let me hear you, Hawke. Isabela's been complaining about the quiet. Let her and everyone else in this place know you're back. Let them hear you're  _mine._ "

The last word came out as a possessive growl that Hawke echoed with a higher-pitched cry as orgasm sizzled through her. Her spine arched and her toes curled, digging into the slippery sheets as she impaled herself on her fingers with Varric's silhouette bracketed between her knees. He looked ravaged despite being fully clothed and not a hair out of place.

Hawke collapsed back against the bed when the last aftershocks rolled through her, wrung out and body thrumming. "Holy shit. If I could bottle your voice up and sell it, I'd make a fortune."

"It hasn't even been a full day yet and you're already trying to pimp me out." Varric crossed his arms over his chest and leaning back against the edge of the desk with a smirk. "Besides, we're already rich. You don't need to exploit me for profit anymore."

"What about for fun?" Hawke countered, wiping her fingers off on his thoroughly de-virginized sheets and tucking her hands behind her head. "Maker, I'm  _starving_."

"I'm afraid there wasn't any sausage, but I did bring bacon instead." Varric went to grab their breakfast without taking care of the sizeable bulge tenting the front of his trousers first. He had to be aching, but he didn't let any of his discomfort show.

Hawke didn't bother to get up when Varric joined her on the bed and sat next to her with the tray balanced on his lap. She opened and closed her mouth like a baby bird until he got the point and started feeding her morsels from each of the plates. The game backfired when he purposefully missed her mouth and smeared jam all over her face, but he leaned down to lick it up before she could voice her outrage.

"Mm. Gooseberry." Varric darted his tongue out to swipe a smear of jam from the corner of Hawke's lips before pulling back to feed his own face.

"Gooses don't even have berries," Hawke said just to have something to argue about for old times' sake. "Unless you're talking about their eggs or balls."

"Why would anyone want to make their eggs or balls into jam? And it's  _geese_ , not gooses, Hawke. One would think you were raised by a pack of feral wolves that never picked a book up in their lives."

"I'll tell my mother you said that."

"She'd probably agree with me." Varric grabbed a triangle of toast and shoved it into her mouth to shut her up. "Now be quiet and eat."

A full mouth never stopped her from talking before, but she rather enjoyed being handfed by Varric. Maker knew no one else would do it without intentionally trying to choke her. She accepted a piece of melon from his fingers next, the fruit ripe and sweet. She chased the juices with her tongue until he shifted uncomfortably. She didn't let him pull away. Instead, she drew his finger fully into her mouth, sucking and swirling her tongue around the digit like she would his cock if only he'd let her.

"Don't make me spank you, Hawke." Varric sounded even gruffer than he had when he'd gotten her off with only his voice.

Hawke pulled off his finger with a wet  _pop_  and laughed. "Is that supposed to be a deterrent? Because it sounds like motivation to me."

Varric groaned and unceremoniously stuffed a pastry into her mouth without answering. She bit into the warm crust and let him eat in peace. The crumbs stuck in her dry throat and she eyed the pair of metal-worked goblets sitting on the tray. She didn't even have to ask before he lifted one and dutifully brought it to her lips. Hawke was disappointed to discover plain orange juice as she swallowed the cool, tangy liquid, but she pretended it was mixed with champagne anyway.

"Any plans for today?" Varric pretended not to notice the crumbs getting all over his bed when Hawke sat up and picked at the rest of her pastry without actually eating much of it. She might not have gotten blackout drunk the night before, but she wasn't used to eating much in the morning without having to expel the contents of her stomach first. She had been caught in a downward spiral and learning to take care of herself was going to be difficult.

"If you're not busy, I thought maybe you'd like a grand tour of the estate," she said.

"I think I can clear my schedule, but I might have to check with my secretary first."

"Varric, if there's a single person here who can even read your appointment book then I'll eat my boot. Corff and Isabela excluded."

"I'd rather you eat your breakfast."

"And I'd rather have sausage, but we can't all get what we want." Hawke abandoned her pastry to jab him in the cheek with a piece of bacon.

"Maferath's balls, you're persistent. But if you're sure-"

"Believe me. I'm sure."

"- _then_  we can discuss it after you show me how the other half lives. Now eat."

"I hope you die of blue balls," Hawke muttered grouchily but took a bite out of the bacon anyway.

"I could think of worse ways to go," he said, twirling his fork before digging into his omelet.

"Like being trapped in an ancient dwarven thaig and left to starve?"

"I was thinking more like being forced to listen to Anders go on about the plight of mages until you're forced to shove white-hot nails into your ears. One hour of that shit is enough to drive anyone insane."

"How about death by a thousand cuts using the pages from  _Hard in Hightown_?"

"Nibbled to death by rats."

"Stuffed into a catapult and launched into a volcano."

"Buried in ash and smothered."

"Attached to the back of a boat by a rope and dragged out to sea."

"Now I know you've been hanging around Isabela too much. That scenario has Rivaini written all over it."

"You should see what she's written on my banister. And on my mail. And in my books. And in my journal. Come to think of it... She's written on pretty much anything that says 'Property of Marian Hawke. Stay out'."

"Yet another reason why tattooing your name on my ass is a bad idea."

"I'm surprised Isabela hasn't already beaten me to it. Maybe I should check just to be sure..."

Despite his resolve to keep his pants on, Hawke was determined to wear him down. The rest of the food ended up on the floor when she tackled Varric and attempted to wrestle him out of his clothes. They rolled around on his bed kissing and trading loving insults until he pushed her off the bed and ordered her to get dressed so he could see this mansion of hers. There was a slight hitch in their plans when they remembered she didn't have anything to wear outside.

"It's too bad you didn't get to see me in the dress or the necklace." Hawke gazed regretfully at the soggy pile of blue and green fabric next to the tub. Borrowing something from either Varric or Isabela was out of the question. It would be a contest on whose clothes would be more obscene and whether she felt like exposing her tits or her ass.

"I appreciate that you went through the effort, but you don't have to try to impress me, Hawke. You do that all on your own." Varric reached out and drew her into a hug that she accepted gratefully. She didn't want to admit she'd been uncertain whether he'd even take her back, but Varric held her like he was never letting go again.

With a little help from the Hanged Man's lost and found collection, they managed to scrounge up some relatively clean clothing that wouldn't make Hawke look like a pirate or a prostitute. The clothes had been made with a relatively tall human male in mind, but at least the previous owner had some propriety as far as acceptable necklines went - unlike her ridiculous friends. She pulled on the shirt and tugged down the sleeves to hide the bruises on her arms. The trousers sagged comically, but it was nothing one of Varric's belts wrapped twice around her waist couldn't fix. She'd never been accused of being fashionable before and that was unlikely to change anytime soon.

She pulled on her boots and borrowed a knife to replace the one that had been taken from her. Hawke felt naked without her daggers, but Varric stuck close to her side the entire walk to Hightown and his hand was a familiar comfort in her own.

"I've heard the nobles grousing about the commoners moving up. Congratulations, Hawke! You ruined the neighborhood!" Varric said when they passed a gaggle of finely-dressed women who tittered at Hawke's appearance and barely gave Varric a second glance.

"It's what I live for," Hawke said with a dramatic toss of her head and squeezed Varric's hand tighter. She missed the days when the same group of prigs would cross the street to avoid walking past her out of fear. Maker-forbid she'd become  _approachable_  in her new lifestyle. "How offended do you think they'd be if I started making out with you right here?"

"We both know it won't end with kissing, and I didn't factor being arrested for public indecency into my schedule today. This is your place, right?"

They stopped in front of a massive building that spanned nearly the entire city block. Elegant stone architecture and towering columns stretched up three storeys, not including the attic or basement. Creeping ivy blanketed the east-facing wall, covering the cracked crown moulding and flaking mortar until late fall when the broad green leaves shriveled up and exposed the estate's true wear and tear.

The outside still needed extensive work. The grounds were a riot of weeds mixed with colorful blooms, but Hawke's focus had been on making the place habitable rather than pretty.  _Pretty_  was a job for someone who enjoyed being stuck repeatedly by thorns and brambles. Like Merrill.

"Home sweet home. Minus the cabbage smell."

"Wow." Varric gave an admiring whistle like he didn't have a copy of the estate's blueprints sitting on his desk back at the Hanged Man. "You really have moved up in the world. Now I feel embarrassed for suggesting you pack it all in for a room above a Lowtown tavern."

"Don't cancel that invitation yet. I'll need somewhere to escape to while we're avoiding the Rose. You should have seen this place when we first moved in. Fenris' mansion looked like a resort in comparison, minus the dead bodies everywhere."

"That's too bad. I hear cadavers really add character to a place."

"Yeah. And graveyards are a riot."

Hawke eyed the front door uncertainly. She was beginning to reconsider the wisdom of bringing Varric home with her. She and her friends had always made a sport out of mocking nobles. Even if Hawke was, technically, noble by blood, she couldn't imagine standing on ceremony with anyone she knew, especially Varric. She put so much time, money, and effort into rebuilding the estate that she didn't know what she'd do if he didn't approve. Or if Leandra didn't approve of  _them_. She let go of Varric's hand and folded her arms over her chest.

"Are you sure you wouldn't rather admire from afar? The rose bushes are exceptionally lovely this time of year." Hawke chewed her bottom lip nervously and avoided Varric's suspicious glance.

"What's up, Hawke? Leave incriminating evidence lying about? Have Broody tied up on your bed?"

"I...maybe sort of implied to my mother you and I were a...thing. She's going to be all over you like a mabari on cake the second we walk in there. Except with less drool and flatulence."

"Nice try. But this reveal is six months overdue. I can handle your mother."

"I'll remember you said that when you're stuck discussing floral arrangements and seating charts for the next four hours."

"I could think of worse things than planning the rest of my life with you." Varric took her hand back and looked at her with such a sincerely heartfelt expression that she nearly shoved him into the rosebushes and ran.

Hawke was spared from having to respond when the front door flew open and Snowflake came tearing out of the house with a harried-looking Bodahn behind him. Snowflake snorfled her palm before whining and dancing around Varric with an urgency that was half-excitement and half his need to piddle.

"Yes, okay. I missed you too, Snow," Varric laughed when he got his very own snorflings and ruffled Snowflake's ears before he bolted down the street to piss in the Duford's prized rosebushes just like Hawke may or may not have taught him.

"Welcome home, Messere! And you brought Varric with you!" Bodahn beamed at the sight of the other dwarf as he ushered them inside.

"Did I hear you say Marian's home, Bodahn? And Varric's here, too?" Leandra called from the great hall.

"They are indeed! I'll put the tea on," Bodahn said, eager at the chance to play the proper manservant.

He'd given up on the rest of Hawke's friends acting civilized, save for Aveline and Sebastian. Merrill was a well-meaning pest and was prone to leaving a trail of dirt up and down the stairs when she regularly repotted the houseplants. Fenris and Isabela continually raided the cellar and left empty wine bottles everywhere, although Hawke wasn't exactly blameless on that count either.

The suit of armor had been put back to rights, but Hawke briefly considered pushing it over again as a distraction tactic when Leandra appeared in the archway. Hawke saw her take in her change of clothing, the bruise on her cheek, and Varric's hand wrapped firmly around her own. She felt a nervous sweat form along the base of her spine when Leandra's welcoming expression dimmed with concern.

"Hello, Leandra. You're looking as lovely as ever," Varric said easily, laying the charm on thick.

"Varric! How good of you to visit. It's been too long."

"My apologies for not coming around sooner. I'm afraid I've been buried under a mountain of paperwork ever since the expedition and lost track of time. Luckily, I managed to dig my way out again with Hawke's help."

Leandra smiled at Varric, but her pale eyes pierced through Hawke making her feel ten-years-old and two inches tall. The impression passed when Leandra blinked and was every bit the noblewoman as she offered Varric the grand tour with all the graciousness of a proper host.

"I love what you've done with the place. Are those eastern Nevarran tapestries?" he asked.

Varric's hand slipped out of Hawke's with one last squeeze before he offered Leandra an elbow so she could escort him around the great hall and regale him with the house's history and their reconstruction efforts. While the two of them were occupied, Hawke went to find something pretty and floral to put in the restored vases she brought with her so they weren't cluttering up Varric's much smaller accommodations.

"How lovely!" Leandra exclaimed, obviously meaning the pottery when Hawke returned with the vases packed with an eclectic array of violets, daffodils, and elfroot. Hawke set them both on the mantelpiece where the Amell family crest hung on proud display and took a step back to admire the effect.

"I've never seen a design like this before." Leandra marveled over the vases, delicately tracing a line of gold filament with her finger. "Are they dwarven made?"

"Yep. Hawke found them in the Deep Roads. I had the vases restored as a belated birthday present."

"Marian wasn't up to having guests, unfortunately. But we missed having you, especially after the wonderful party you put together for Bethany."

"Oh, look! Tea!" Hawke exclaimed loudly when Bodahn entered carefully balancing a tea service.

Bodahn startled when Hawke descended upon one of the delicate teacups that looked as if they'd shatter if Hawke eyed them wrong. She took a noisy slurp of the scalding liquid, forgoing the small decanter of whiskey she usually added to make the drink more palatable. There was also a plate of shortbread cookies Hawke confiscated from Bodahn in exchange for her empty teacup. She hoped if her mouth was full she wouldn't be required to talk.

"Goodness! Where are your manners, Marian?" Leandra chastised when Hawke stuffed three cookies into her mouth at once. "You should have said something if you were hungry. Why don't you come help me in the kitchen and I'll fix us all something to eat?"

Hawke's plan backfired when Leandra passed the plate of cookies over to Varric and took her by the arm. She steered her toward the kitchen while Hawke's mouth was too full to protest. Hawke threw Varric an openly pleading look, but the traitor only bit into a cookie to hide his grin and pretended to admire their coat of arms.

Leandra flitted around the kitchen and set out sandwich fixings while Hawke stayed out of the way. She didn't bother trying to tell her they'd just eaten. Leandra would only insist Hawke could stand to eat more anyway. She crossed her arms over her chest and waited for Leandra to start in on whatever it was she was going to say. She'd probably want to know what happened to her dress or how she'd gotten injured this time or, worse, ask uncomfortable questions about her and Varric's relationship. Hawke grew tenser as Leandra continued to work in silence until she finally couldn't take the suspense any longer.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" Hawke blurted out, nearly knocking over a canister of sugar when she slapped her palm against the counter in frustration. Leandra didn't bother to look her way as she cut up an assortment of cheeses, fruits, and vegetables to add to their snack.

"Should I? I'm sure the last thing you need is your mother watching over your shoulder every time you come home. You're allowed to make your own decisions, love."

"So you'd really approve of me fucking Varric?"

"Marian! Language! There's no need to be so crass," Leandra said sharply as she set the knife in her hand down on the cutting board. "Of course I don't mind if you're seeing Varric. All I've ever wanted was for you and your siblings to one day find happiness like I did with your father. You needn't have kept it a secret."

"It seemed easier not to say anything," Hawke said, chagrined. "I didn't want to get your hopes up if things didn't work out."

"I understand not wanting to get your hopes up." Leandra ignored Hawke's attempt to deflect feelings away from herself and resumed chopping stalks of celery and green onion to mix in with the chicken salad filling for the sandwiches. Her tone softened as if speaking to herself. "I should have realized it sooner. I've seen the way he looks at you. I wouldn't have tried so hard to find you a suitable husband if I'd known you were already involved with someone. After so many years as a peasant's wife, it's strange not having anything to do. But perhaps there is still life once your children have outgrown you."

"You've been through a lot. You deserve any joy you can find."

"Thank you, love. No one could ever replace your father, but it is refreshing to think I could still be courted at this age. I've been wondering if I shouldn't remarry."

"Sounds like you've got someone in mind." Hawke was glad for the subject change even if it was about her aging mother's love life.

"Nothing I'm ready to share yet, so don't pry," Leandra said primly.

Hawke suspected the irony was entirely lost on her considering how much prying of her own Leandra normally did. "Varric and I had a big breakfast. Do you mind if we save all this for lunch later?" Hawke looked over the frankly daunting spread and caught sight of the bottle of wine Leandra was setting out to pair with the selection of cheeses. "Also, I...we. Aren'tdrinkinganymore," she blurted out in a rush.

"What was that?" Leandra looked from the wine bottle to Hawke with her brow furrowed.

Hawke took a deep breath and tried again, slower.

"Varric and I aren't drinking anymore. We decided to quit. I don't want to get into why, but if you could please hide all of the alcohol, even the cooking sherry, and not ask any questions I would really, really appreciate it."

"Oh, love. Of course I won't ask. Give me a day or so and I'll have the wine cellar cleared out as well."

"You don't have to do that. It's my decision. Everyone else shouldn't have to suffer for it."

"Nonsense. We'll find something else to serve our guests. I am so proud of you, darling."

Hawke was left unexpectedly blinking back tears. She ducked her head and chewed viciously on her bottom lip. She supposed a lack of spirits in the household wouldn't be noticed by anyone who wasn't a raging alcoholic. Orana refused to touch the stuff and Sandal was prohibited after a drunken incident involving Antivan wine, a wayward enchantment, and a minor explosion in the west wing. Leandra and Bodahn only drank socially or with meals, and not nearly to the excess Hawke did.

...Had.

Hawke helped Leandra pack up the food for later and followed her into one of their many sitting rooms for a thoroughly exhausting tea break with Varric. Despite her earlier promise not to pry, Leandra was a master at squeezing information out of the most unwilling participants. Hawke watched with gleeful satisfaction as she expertly grilled Varric about his family, work, and living situation through subtle maneuvering disguised as polite conversation. Not even Varric, self-professed rogue and master spy, could attempt to waylay her intensely thorough line of questioning without seeming rude.

Leandra affected a moue of displeasure when she learned he had no intention of moving out of his rented room at the Hanged Man. The expression broadcast her very clear opinion a tavern would be no place to raise children, but fortunately Varric was able to distract her away from that loaded subject. He went into great detail about the plumbing in his suite instead, likely making shit up on the spot just to keep Leandra on a relatively safe topic.

Leandra seemed enthralled by dwarven engineering, and it was a relief when she latched onto the description of his bathtub with honest interest. Though Hawke would love to draw a hot bath in minutes without the use of magic, her coffers certainly didn't share in their enthusiasm. She hoped Varric heard back from his contacts in Orzammar before Leandra started drafting ideas to outfit the entire estate with indoor plumbing or lava pools.

Varric finished off the last of the cookies when their conversation hit a lull and Hawke reached over to brush the crumbs off his face without thinking. She flushed when she caught the look Leandra shot them over the rim of her cup as she sipped demurely at her cooling tea with an air of satisfaction. Hawke cleared her throat and quickly dropped her hand, but Varric caught it expertly and rested their intertwined fingers on top of his knee in plain sight.

"Any news from Bethany?" Varric asked, drawing Leandra's attention away from their clasped hands.

"I visited her at the Circle and she seems happy enough." Leandra twisted a cloth napkin in her hands until she caught the nervous action and smoothed the napkin over her lap.

"As if there was any question of Sunshine passing her Harrowing," Varric said proudly. "Good for her."

"I'll send her your regards."

Hawke hadn't been back to the Gallows after her disastrous attempt to rescue Bethany last year. She doubted Meredith had forgotten her storming the templar hall and demanding the Knight-Captain's head on a pike. Hawke had been doing her best to avoid templars altogether, save for Cullen, after the confrontation with Alrik. Alrik might be dead, but Hawke was certain there were other templars more than willing to take out their aggression on Bethany or use her as leverage whenever Hawke made trouble for them. The last thing she wanted was to make Bethany's life any more difficult than she already had.

"Thank you so much for visiting, Varric. And for the lovely vases," Leandra said, blessedly calling an end to her interrogation. "I suspect there will be rain this afternoon, and there are a few errands I need to get done in the marketplace before it storms. You'll show Varric around, Marian?"

Hawke shot an 'I told you so' look at Varric. He seemed more than a little shell-shocked after Leandra's intimidatingly polite but ruthless interview, but he hadn't run away screaming. It was a step up from all the other suitors who had come sniffing around. "Of course, Mother. We'll try not to get lost."

"How many times have you gotten lost trying to find the front door?" Varric teased.

"Hush you," Hawke said when Varric grinned smugly, knowing he'd hit the mark. "Be careful, Mother. If you see Snowflake, send him home before he finds mud puddles to roll in."

"Poor Bodahn. He is forever following that dog around with a mop," Leandra sighed, but there was affection in her exasperated tone. It was how Hawke suspected she sounded whenever she fussed over Snowflake's many antics.

The second Leandra left the two of them alone, Varric made a beeline for the antique writing desk in the study and shamelessly began snooping through the piles of Hawke's mail. Most of her post remained unopened, cluttering up the desktop until she could be bothered to draft a reply or pitch the letters not heavy with coin from payments, bribes, or blackmail into the fireplace. She could benefit from hiring a secretary, but knowing her luck she would only end up incriminating someone else in one of her many crimes.

" _Sorry. I was expecting treasure, not spiders. Get well soon. Love, Isabela,_ " Varric read aloud, picking the first letter with familiar script out of the pile.

"Don't ask." Hawke shuddered, recalling how long it had taken to get spider guts out of her hair the last time. "You should see all the letters I've gotten with marriage proposals. Those are even more horrifying than spiders."

"Please tell me you've saved the good ones."

"Even better. I still have a few who sent portraits. I use them for target practice."

"Well, what are we waiting for? Don't hold out on me now, Hawke," Varric said, making grabby hands.

Hawke found the letters bundled together in one of the desk drawers and pulled out one of the less revolting missives. Leandra had kept the letters as a sort of contingency plan, but she might be persuaded to toss them after being officially introduced to Hawke's paramour. "Here, check this one out."

" _My Dearest Marian_ ," Varric began in his imitation of a snobby, elitist nobleman. He paused and wrinkled his nose as he said in his normal voice, "I hate this guy already. Amateur."

"That's only strike one. Keep reading."

" _My Dearest Marian. I am pleased to inform you word extolling your noble beauty and impressive exploits have reached my humble corner of the world in Berkshire, a bounteous land north of Ostwick in the Free Marches. As Lord Phinius William Henry IV of noble House Langley, a line twice removed from King Envernus himself, I invite you to consider my offer of marriage. With your remarkable talents and my own not inconsiderable influence_ -"

"His humility is  _such_  a turn on."

"- _it is my strong belief; nay,_ certainty, _our families will form a powerful alliance and conceive many beautiful, strong-willed children to continue both of our respectable bloodlines. Please be assured I am willing to overlook the regretful presence of magic inflicted upon the Amell and Hawke lines. Berkshire, I am proud to say, is a progressive and influential city-state with many protections offered to those such as you and I. As my wife, I can assure you our children will never fear templar scrutiny. You will also need never sully yourself with banal work or common rabble again if you so choose. Imagine, if you will, a life of decadence with no duties save for the matrimonial ones_ -

"What an ass!" Varric exploded, unable to continue as he skipped down to the salutation and memorized the suitor's return address. He probably already had plans to...enlighten...this Lord Phinius of Berkshire about exactly the sort of rabble Hawke associated herself with. "He should be so lucky. Please tell me they're not all like this," he begged, pitching the letter into the fireplace without hesitation.

"Pretty much." Hawke thumbed through the twenty or so letters remaining in the bundle. "The general consensus is that, while impressive, my skills with a knife would be put to better use in the kitchen."

"Wow. They haven't done their research at all. You don't need a knife to kill someone. Your attempts at cooking would do the job."

"Bullshit. You've never even tried my cooking!"

"And there's a reason for that: I value my life."

"You must not if you're still talking about my lack of marriage potential."

"I never said that." Varric pinned her with a look that made her blood run hot and cold. "You have plenty of redeeming qualities, Hawke. Any guy would be lucky to have you for his wife."

Hawke felt a thrill spike through her stomach that was a mixture of terror, lust, and nerves. She coughed to cover her blush and flicked him on the tip of his nose. "Anyway, we're wasting daylight. I still have an entire estate to show you."

There were more rooms closed off than not after the incident with the exploding enchantment, but five people and one mabari didn't need all that extra space. Hawke skipped the west wing and took Varric upstairs to the library instead. He made impressed noises and gazed around at the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lining every wall and the collection of squishy, mismatched armchairs arranged in front of a massive stone fireplace. Hawke wasn't an avid reader by any means, but neither were the previous occupants who had left the books mostly untouched.

Varric perused one of the bookshelves and pointed out his  _Hard in Hightown_  series with delight. "I see you have a few of my books. Not that I expect you've read any of them."

"You'd expect right. I don't even read warning or 'do not enter' signs."

"Now, that I believe." Varric's eyes caught on a tome, and he picked it up with an amused expression. " _A Hundred and One Uses for a Phallic Tuber_ , huh?"

"You can blame Isabela for that one. That's a hundred uses too many." Hawke plucked the book out of Varric's hands and placed it on the top shelf out of reach of nosy dwarves. She wouldn't want to be responsible for scarring Sandal after all.

"I know you don't eat tubers if you can avoid it, Hawke. I really don't want to know what you do with that extra one."

"Yes, you do," Hawke countered, daring him to contradict her. He didn't. "There are more exciting things around here than some dusty old books. You should at least see the wine collection in the cellar before Mother has it all tossed out to sea or auctioned off to the highest bidder."

"So you told her."

"I had to out of self-preservation. If I suddenly stopped drinking without any explanation it would only be a matter of time before tiny, knitted booties start appearing in strategic places around the house. The tea inquisition was bad enough. Let's not give her any more fodder."

"You have a point there," Varric agreed, but he didn't seem daunted. He took her hand and let her guide them down into the basement level.

There were sconces lit along the way, but the cellar was still dark and supremely creepy. Not even Snowflake would go down there to chase rats. Hawke stopped caring about impressing Varric after he found the collection of Gamlen's shoes and ladies' knickers – also possibly belonging to Gamlen – her dog had been hoarding behind a potted ficus. She wasn't sure how long they walked around down there, but it was long enough for Varric to ask her several times if they were lost.

No, they were  _not._

...Most likely.

"Did you hear that?" Hawke whispered, halting them both in their tracks with an arm barred over Varric's chest.

"This better not be another one of your jump scares, Hawke," Varric hissed back, already reaching for Bianca.

Hawke might have shouted "Boo!" in his ear once or twice to distract him from the cluster of barrels they'd already passed two times previously. She took a left turn in the direction of the sound and saw the boards that had been nailed over the entrance to Darktown lying smashed on the ground. She barely reacted in time when Varric pushed her shoulder and shouted, "Watch out!"

Hawke dropped to her knee and grabbed the knife from her boot as an arrow sailed overhead. Varric returned fire at a shadow that detached itself from the wall and fell with a cry. It didn't move when Hawke crept over silently and shoved the assassin onto their back. The man was wearing the Tevinter-based armor of a slaver and Hawke swore under her breath.

"Be on your guard. There's probably more around here," she said, making certain to stay out of the light cast by the wall sconces and stick to the shadows.

"Keep an eye out for traps, Hawke. Looks like someone left a surprise here for us." Varric knelt to disable several trigger-plates, but Hawke was already leaping over them by the time more slavers poured into the cellar in what had to be a planned ambush or an unwelcome surprise. "Dammit, Hawke! Wait!"

"I already have two down! Hurry up, slowpoke!"

Hawke spun to deflect a short sword with her knife. She stabbed the slaver in the gut and stole the weapon from his hand at the same time. The mismatched blades weren't ideal, but Hawke already had four kills by the time Varric finished disabling the last of the traps and sent a volley of bolts into the thickest cluster of slavers. The half that remained standing were quickly picked off by potshots and backstabs. There was no such thing as playing fair when they were this outnumbered. They whittled the slavers' numbers down to a manageable few when a loud, unexpected howl rung out from somewhere to her left as a mage's spell crackled behind her.

"Did someone order a shot to the face?" Varric shouted as he took down the last two slavers, but his shot ricocheted off the mage's barrier. "Shit!"

Hawke knew she would be too slow to get out of the blast's range when the mage dropped the barrier and cast his spell faster than she could dodge. She threw both blades to the ground so she wouldn't be caught with metal in her hands during an electricity attack – a lesson she had learned the hard way, repeatedly.

Hawke heard another howl and watched as a solid mass collided with the mage. The spell veered off and glanced her shoulder, numbing her arm down to her fingertips as the mage lost hold of his staff and went down under a flurry of snarls and screams. Hawke was still blinking away spots when she gripped her shoulder and backed up into Varric, who steadied her with a hand on her hip when she startled.

"Snowflake?" Hawke called uncertainly. She couldn't make out any details on the beast, but she would know that bark anywhere. "Snow! Quit chewing on the mage!"

Snowflake whined as his head came up, but he bounded over to join them while still masticating some part of the mage in his mouth. Hawke knelt to pet him and discovered he was completely covered in mud. He shamelessly rolled over for belly rubs, coating his fur in a fine layer of dust. He'd probably been hiding from Bodahn and his mop, but they were lucky Snowflake found them when he did.

"Who's my favorite boy always coming to the rescue?" Hawke babbled and scratched his belly vigorously with both hands when she regained feeling in her left arm. Snowflake yipped an affirmative, tongue lolling out happily.

"I resent that," Varric grumped as he holstered Bianca, but he gave Snowflake several pats on his round stomach before he went to inspect the mage's remains. Or what remained of the mage's remains after Snowflake got a hold of him.

"Don't listen to the cranky old dwarf. He's just jealous," Hawke crooned to Snowflake while projecting her voice in Varric's direction.

"Then I guess you don't want this key?" Varric held up something that glinted bronze when it caught the torchlight.

"That has to be the vault." Hawke gave Snowflake a final scratch and stood up. She brushed off her knees and searched around for a replacement weapon. "Good job! You've earned belly rubs, too. Bethany mentioned finding Grandfather's will for Mother. Gamlen said he'd left it here after ensuring his claim on the inheritance, but we never got around to finding it before I left on the expedition. If there's anything to learn about my family, it has to be in there."

"I plan to collect on those belly rubs," Varric said as he handed the key over. He muffled a grunt of surprise when Hawke fisted the front of his tunic and drew him onto his toes for a swift kiss.

"I plan to be rubbing more than your belly," Hawke purred against his lips, gratified when she heard his breath hitch. "But let's find the will and get out of here first."

"Tease," Varric complained, straightening out his tunic when Hawke let him go.

Hawke wasn't fooled for a second. Complaining was Varric's favorite pastime  _especially_  when he was in a good mood.

The key unlocked a solid metal door marred with several scratches and scorch marks on the pitted surface like someone had tried to break or blast their way inside. Assuming from the appearance of slavers in her cellar, it was possible they were either seeking treasure, a new passage beneath the estate, or they had known about the will and wanted to alter the original document in order to claim the estate back for themselves. Hawke doubted they were all that smart, but they could have been acting on someone else's orders. She was kicking herself for not having the passages bricked up or blown up the second she and her mother moved into the estate.

They entered a room full of old chests and empty cabinets. Gamlen had already cleared out anything of value. There wasn't much to find in the way of heirlooms, aside from a handful of sovereigns and a few cracked gems, but the documents she found tucked away in one of the bigger chests made up for the lack of treasure.

"Grandfather's will..." Hawke skimmed over the aged sheaves of parchment stamped with the Amell crest until she reached the section detailing the allocation of assets. "I fucking knew it. That lying rat bastard!"

"That's no way to talk about your dearly departed grandfather, Hawke. Although, I have to admit mine wasn't much better. He was a smith who tried to become Paragon and ended up poisoning himself."

"I meant Gamlen, but how did your grandfather manage that?"

"He was terrible at intrigue. Forgot which goblet he'd put the poison in and wasn't even finished gloating to his enemy when he keeled over. I think the family always had a sense for terrible drama."

"You might want to rethink adding mine to it," Hawke said as she handed over the will for Varric to read.

" _To my daughter Leandra, and all children born of her...the estate in Hightown and all associated revenues..."_

"Gamlen knew this entire time Grandfather left everything to my mother and us, and tried to cover it up. The second I get my hands on him..." Hawke growled, full of righteous indignation.

"Perhaps a strongly-worded letter is in order?" Varric suggested, giving her back the will. "Let it go, Hawke. What's done is done. You made it here in the end while Gamlen is still slumming it in Lowtown avoiding his debtors and sniffing women's knickers."

Hawke deflated when Snowflake whimpered and nosed her hand. "I  _know_. You're both right, dammit, but I can't stand the thought of him getting away with this. It doesn't erase the year Bethany and I spent working for Meeran or everything else we went through to buy back the estate when it should have been ours by right. I should have listened to Bethany when she suggested we break in here and find the will sooner. Not that it would have mattered without the money from the expedition. Do you have any idea how much stone ashlar takes to repair, or even know what the fuck ashlar is?"

"I think you forget I was born on the Surface and never had any stone sense to begin with. But considering the size of the place, I can imagine it's not cheap. Either way, it's a good thing we came down here cleared out the slavers before they killed you in your sleep. I doubt you're insured for that. Slavers are notoriously secretive about their routes so it's likely not too many people know about this passage. Judging by the smell, we're probably not too far from Darktown."

"Smack dab in the center of it, actually." Hawke tucked the will into her pocket and gazed around the room for anything else her mother might like to keep, but most of it was useless junk or too heavy to carry.

"Well, since we're already in Blondie's neck of the woods..." Varric raised his eyebrows meaningfully.

"Do we have to?" she whined, knowing exactly where this was leading. "I'm not even dressed for the occasion."

"Don't even start, Hawke." Varric walked her toward the exit with a hand against the small of her back. "I doubt Blondie would be any more impressed by a fancy dress than I am."

Hawke groaned and allowed herself to be herded toward a trap door with a ladder leading down into the bowels of Darktown. Snowflake whined, unable to climb down, but Hawke ordered him to stay with a promise they'd be right back. The passage was located closer than she'd thought to Anders' clinic. Hawke wondered how she missed it before, but at least they had a shortcut back to her place without having to trudge through Darktown and Lowtown to get there.

The lanterns were lit, which meant Hawke wasn't getting out of this spontaneous reunion with Varric trodding on her heels. She pushed open the door without knocking, eager to get the awkward conversation over with as quickly as possible.

"Anders! It's Hawke! I-What are you doing?"

Hawke's falsely boisterous greeting was derailed when she saw Anders kneeling down in the dirt. She felt a temporary blip of panic thinking he was hurt, but then she spotted the chipped bowl he was setting on the ground and could breathe again.

"Putting out milk. I miss having a cat around. But I think the refugees have scared them all off. Or maybe eaten them." Anders stood and brushed off his robes. He frowned as he took in their disheveled appearance and the blood splattered on Hawke's second-hand clothing. "Did something happen?"

"Heya, Blondie. Nothing's wrong. We were just in the area so we thought we'd drop in and say hi."

"...Hi," Hawke said obediently when Varric elbowed her.

"Hello. You're favoring your left arm, Hawke. Do you want me to...?" Anders took a step forward, hand lit with the beginnings of a healing spell. He stopped when Hawke flinched away.

"Ah, no. It's fine. Ran into a mage who obviously didn't learn the electricity thing in the same Circle you did." Hawke forced herself to grin and let go of the defensive clutch she had on her arm. "Nothing a bit of elfroot won't take care of. But I did want to ask if we could borrow your healing talents in the near future?"

"That's not exactly reassuring, Hawke. But I'll always be wherever you need me." Anders let the blue light fade and went to the cabinet to retrieve an elfroot potion for her. She swallowed the potion under Varric and Anders' keen supervision and handed the empty vial back to Anders. He was careful not to let their fingers brush and retreated to his desk, putting unwanted but necessary space between them.

"You know, I've been meaning to thank you," he said, shifting around parchment and healing supplies without actually organizing anything.

"You have?" Hawke hoped he wasn't about to follow up with a passive-aggressive remark about making his life less complicated for the past six months with her absence.

"Having someone like you making a name for yourself in Kirkwall and actively challenging Meredith... It's done a lot for mages."

"So you heard about that." Hawke groaned and rubbed her temple, hissing when she encountered a small cut the potion would heal in a few minutes. "Charging into the Gallows single-handedly and demanding my sister back wasn't my brightest idea to date. I'm lucky Meredith didn't have me arrested on the spot."

"That's why we need you. So templars can't keep tearing apart families and hurting innocent people. You're the kind of leader we need. To tell the world we won't be punished any longer for our Maker-given gifts."

"Whoa, slow down. I hope you haven't started petitioning me for viscount yet." Hawke raised her hands to ward off his enthusiasm. "Mind if we change the subject to something a little less intense? I think I'm ready for that relationship talk now."

Anders bowed his head and clenched his fist against the scarred desktop. "I know nothing I say will change what happened. It's just...I'm sorry. I can't give you a normal life. If you're with me, we'll be hunted, hated. The whole world will be against us."

"Aw, don't be dramatic, Blondie. You should hear what the Guild wants to do to me for shacking up with someone like Hawke. Extortion and blackmail's just the beginning," Varric said.

"You're...living together now?"

"I have a drawer," Hawke said elusively. "It's okay, Anders. I understand why you left. I didn't want you to spend all this time thinking I was upset with you. I actually wanted to see if we could maybe...be friends again?"

"I would like that." Anders smiled softly, eyes crinkling at the corners as he finally looked up at her.

Hawke thought she detected some lingering sadness, but she was too much of a coward to ask for more or insist they find a way to make the three of them work somehow. Friends was...something. A start, at least. She could work with that.

"Good. Then you'll come to dinner? We need a buffer for my mother," she said hopefully.

"Sorry, Hawke. Another time, perhaps?"

"Damn," Varric muttered under his breath.

"Fine, but if you can spare a minute there's something I want to show you. And I promise to keep my clothes on this time," Hawke added when Anders looked like he was going to refuse.

The corner of his mouth lifted ruefully and he nodded. "All right. What is it?"

"It's a passage through Darktown that leads directly to my estate. You're welcome to use it to visit or if you ever need a quick escape from the templars."

"I-thank you, Hawke. That means a lot to me."

"I hope this means we'll be seeing you around more," Varric said, clapping Anders' arm companionably. "Hawke's planning her triumphant return to Wicked Grace, but feel free to take advantage of her hospitality in the meantime. The estate is so huge she didn't even notice the twenty or so slavers hiding in her basement."

"Don't listen to him, Anders. It's safe now. I think."

"I still prefer to take my chances with slavers over templars. I'm ready to go, but let me lock up the clinic first," Anders said.

He extinguished the lanterns and followed the two of them to the hidden passage. They didn't speak on the short walk to the entrance, aside from Varric's usual chatter, but Hawke and Anders jumped when Snowflake poked his head down from the top of the ladder and barked out a greeting.

"Take all the time you need, Hawke. I'll just hang out up here with Snowflake." Varric pushed them aside to start climbing up. Varric's boots disappeared up the ladder as he abandoned the two of them to sort things out on their own.

"Subtle!" Hawke called, hands cupped around her mouth. There was no response other than the sound of the trap door falling shut. Hawke rolled her head back on her shoulders with a groan and rested her hands on her hips as she avoided looking at Anders. She could feel tension building between her shoulder blades as the silence between them progressed from awkward to painful to excruciating until she couldn't stand it any longer.

"Nice weather we've been having?" Hawke said desperately.

Anders coughed out a laugh, and Hawke blessedly felt the tension snap and release. "Some things never change. I'm glad. I...missed you, Hawke."

"Missed you, too. But don't worry. You're not getting rid of me that easily. I'm told I have the habit of popping up like a bad rash."

"I have a cream for that. Although, Isabela might have stolen the last of my supply. Again."

"I'll bet she did." Hawke grinned, feeling something grow warm inside her.

She reached for the first rung of the ladder instead of grabbing Anders and pulling him into a fierce hug. His appearance was better than the last time they'd parted, but he looked like he could use one. He'd shaved at some point and his cheeks had filled out a little, but he still had dark hollows beneath his eyes and seemed worn around the edges. Hawke's urge to take care of him was still there, but she knew they both needed time to settle into their new dynamic...whatever that was.

She paused near the top of the ladder with her hand braced to push open the trap door and called back down before she lost her nerve. "See you for Wicked Grace night?"

"...Wouldn't miss it for the world."

* * *

Despite the shortcut and the lack of people trying to rob or kill them, it was still a long, uphill trek back to the estate. Varric bitched every step of the way, which was how Hawke knew everything was right in the world again.

"I don't know about you, Hawke, but I'm starving. I could really go for some more of those cookies," Varric said.

Hawke soon realized the growling she kept hearing wasn't from Snowflake, but from their stomachs. She didn't know how long they'd been traipsing down in the cellar and Darktown, but it had to be past noon. She was literally itching to get out of her borrowed clothing and hoped the previous owner hadn't had an infestation of lice or worse. Hawke tried not to get spoiled with servants at her beck and call, but being clean and fed on a regular basis still felt like an undeserved privilege.

"Mother put lunch aside for us. Hopefully Snowflake didn't help himself before he found us down here." Snowflake cocked his head and whined his innocence, but Hawke didn't trust him one bit. "But I think we could all use a bath first—shit!"

Predictably, Snowflake yelped and bolted down the passageway, disappearing out of sight.

"The only time I ever see him move that fast is at the mention of baths, food, or raiders," Varric said admiringly.

"I could say the same for you."

"Careful, Hawke. Or I could forget to warn you the next time you're about to walk into a trap."

"I haven't put you in the will yet, dwarf. So you'd better play nice."

"I'm always nice."

Once they emerged from the cellar, Hawke tracked down Orana. She had chased Snowflake outside so at least the rain would sluice off the worse of the mud and blood he'd been covered in, even if the estate would reek of wet dog after he snuck back inside. Snowflake was hilariously terrified of the tiny elf girl, but Hawke and Varric were also quick to flee when she stared at their filthy boots and clothing in distress. She was more than happy to bring the food upstairs after they got cleaned up.

They stripped down in Hawke's room and wiped themselves off with flannels dunked in a basin of room temperature water. It was no elaborate dwarven bath, but it did the job. Hawke changed into her favorite house robe, not bothering to wear anything underneath, while Varric put on the tunic and trousers he'd been wearing before. It seemed he might need his own drawer at Hawke's, but knowing Varric he'd insist on having their sleepovers at the Hanged Man. He was a creature of comfort and habit, but Hawke had to admit she had yet to feel at home in the estate.

Orana brought them lunch along with a bottle of sweet, chilled wine. It was the expensive kind from Tevinter and one of Hawke's favorites. Leandra must not have informed the others in the household yet, or else Orana had already forgotten out of habit. Hawke was so thirsty the sight of the condensation beading on the outside of the bottle made her want to cry. She gritted her teeth against a surge of raging desire so strong she nearly snatched the bottle and started chugging the wine down.

"Didn't Fenris say all Tevinter wine is made from the blood and tears of slaves?" Varric joked to distract her.

"What?  _Fuck._ " Hawke pressed a hand over her face to ward off the sharp spike of pain that hit her between the eyes without warning.

"Mistress? Are you all right?" Orana asked nervously, clutching the basket of food to her chest.

"I think we're both feeling a bit dehydrated...ah..." Varric hesitated over the new servant's name.

"Orana, Messere. Mistress Hawke was kind enough to take me in and offer me a job after my papa died and I didn't have anywhere else to go."

"That's our Hawke. Orana, if it's not too much trouble, could you take this and bring us some juice or water instead? I think it might help with Hawke's headache." Varric indicated the wine bottle with a casual wave.

"Of course. I'll be right back, Mistress!" Orana's eyes flitted over Hawke before she set the basket on the round table next to the window, took the bottle, and ran.

"Let's hope our new resolution lasts longer than twenty-four hours." Varric's gaze lingered on the door like he was tempted to chase Orana down and take the wine back.

He shook his head and sat down at the table to dig through the contents of the basket. Hawke wasn't hungry anymore, but she couldn't stand the worry in Varric's eyes when she didn't join him right away. He seemed two seconds away from ordering her to bed and fetching her a cool compress and a bucket just in case. Hawke exhaled slowly through her nostrils and made herself sit down and pick up a sandwich. They ate in silence save for the patter of rain outside the window and Orana's brief interruption when she dropped off a carafe of water before running out again and closing the bedroom door behind her.

"Nice view. I see the Arenbergs have made up." Varric squinted as he stared out of the window, half-eaten sandwich abandoned on his plate.

"Who?" Hawke gave up on the sandwich after a few bites and sipped slowly on the cold water to settle her stomach.

"You've lived here how long and you don't know your neighbors yet?"

"I try not to socialize." Hawke leaned over to check out the view that had Varric so enthralled. "Wow. Lord Arenberg is surprisingly flexible."

"I don't know, Hawke. I think you could give him a run for his money."

"I'd be willing to test that theory if  _someone_  wasn't acting like a delicate damsel in fear of her virtue all of a sudden," Hawke said crankily as she kicked her heels out and slumped back in her chair.

"Sweetheart... I just thought we should give it some time before rushing back into things."

"And how many times do I have to tell you I'm fine? If you don't want to have sex, then I won't keep pushing. But don't  _coddle_  me, Varric. I'm fucked up, not broken."  _Not yet,_  she added silently but thought better of actually saying as much out loud.

"I trust you, Hawke. If you say you're ready then I believe you."

"So...how far does this trust extend? In theory?"

"Why?" Varric looked as if he immediately regretted everything when Hawke's lips curled into a predatory grin, damned by his own word.

"Hm. Since you missed my birthday, I thought I'd share one of my presents. Complete with a full hands-on demonstration if you think you're up to it?"

"I'm not agreeing to anything until I see what this present of yours entails. For all I know you're hiding the Arishok in your wardrobe for a surprise threesome."

"You're actually not that far off."

"Oh great." Varric crossed his arms over his chest and didn't budge from his seat. "I know I'm going to regret saying this, but let's see it then."

Hawke got up from the table and went to the trunk where she kept all of her odds and ends she couldn't be bothered to find an actual place for. Not that she wanted most of the items in her trunk on display where her mother could see them. After a bit of digging, she found what she was looking for. She held up the harness Isabela had used on her and one of her smaller dildos which had gotten extensive use after her unplanned bout of celibacy. The toy was proportionate to a relatively average-sized human male, but Hawke didn't want to scare him off with anything bigger.

"No.  _Shit_  no. What did I tell you about my ass being an exit only?" The look of horrified curiosity that crossed his face was comical as he stood and came closer to inspect the contraption, but not  _too_  close.

"C'mon," Hawke wheedled, wagging the dildo at him. "You didn't even see the one Isabela used on me. This one's practically tiny in comparison. You'll hardly feel it."

"Then why don't we stick it in your ass?"

"Because I'm asking if we can stick it in yours. Just this once? Please? I'll even rub you down first if you're good."

Varric exhaled a long, soul-weary sigh and regarded dildo like it was a venomous snake. "At least tell me you have lube?"

Hawke's face broke out into a huge grin and she barely refrained from punching the air with a triumphant shout. "Don't worry, Varric. I'll be as gentle with you as a virgin on her wedding night."

"You'd better. I'm expecting flowers after," Varric grumbled as he tugged at his belt.

"You'll feel like a proper princess. Now hurry up, get naked, and lie on the bed."

"I thought you were supposed to woo me." Varric's complaint was muffled as he pulled his tunic over his head.

" _Woo_ ," Hawke said in what was supposed to be a spooky imitation of a ghost. She dropped the harness to wiggle her fingers at him before reaching over to slap him on the ass. "There. Now you're wooed."

Varric swore and nearly tipped over, hopping on one foot as he struggled to get out of his pants. He finished stripping and considered her unmade bed warily. It was an ungainly height even for her, but he managed to climb up and flop onto his front, face buried in the sheets. Hawke shrugged out of her housecoat and fought with the straps of the harness until they sat snug around her hips and thighs as opposed to cutting off circulation entirely.

She secured her cock - a curved wooden shaft wrapped in soft, buttery leather - to the harness. She retrieved a smaller cock from her trunk just in case this one was too much for him along with a vial of sweet almond oil. They didn't talk about previous lovers so she didn't know if he'd ever done anything like this before. She wanted to make the experience good for him rather than traumatic so he'd want to do it again or at least be up for further experimentation.

Varric was incredibly guarded despite all appearances. He might tell her about his history of partners if she asked, but he'd probably find a way to turn that question back on her without giving anything up. Varric gladly regaled anyone who listened with unnecessarily graphic depictions of Hawke's supposed conquests, even if half the details were embellished and Isabela made up the rest.

As far as Hawke was concerned, casual fucks and one-night stands were generally free game. The only living person who knew about Millie, Hawke's only other serious relationship to date, was currently locked away on an island fortress. She didn't want to know if Varric had loved anyone else the way Hawke had loved her. She didn't want to know if he'd planned a future at someone else's side. Hawke couldn't compete with another for his affections when she knew he could have anyone he wanted. He deserved the best but damned if Hawke wasn't banking on him settling for her.

"Need any help back there? I'm in danger of falling asleep," Varric warned.

"I thought I'd build up the anticipation, but I didn't realize you were so eager."

"This is a one-time deal, Hawke. I don't think I can handle being schtupped on a regular basis. My work does require me to sit down on occasion."

"All the more reason to keep you a prisoner in my bed."

"I could stand to add 'sex slave' to my résumé... In addition to being heroic and dashingly handsome."

"Don't forget modest."

"Hawke, my modesty went right out the window a long time ago. Along with Lord Arenberg's pants."

Hawke knew talking calmed him so she kept him distracted with easy banter while she knelt on the bed behind him. His words hitched and she felt a shudder ripple through the muscles in his back when she nestled her cock between his cheeks and stroked oil-slick hands down his sides. He was tense all over, but his voice gradually smoothed out when Hawke kept the massage focused on the knots in his back and shoulders and tried not to move her hips. She put her entire weight into working out the tightest spots and didn't dare go below his waist until he was practically melting into the mattress, syllables turning into mush in the middle of his story.

"...After the customer accused him of selling dog meat instead of lamb, the butcher said, and I quote: 'Ser, sheep have not been native to Southern Free Marches for the past two centuries. If you like, I can put on a wool cap and baa for you'."

"He didn't!" Hawke gasped, pausing to wipe away tears of laughter with the back of her wrist. She pressed her free hand between Varric's shoulder blades when he shifted beneath her, but he was only finding a more comfortable position rather than trying to escape.

"He did. Stuck the cap on his head and came out from behind his stall. Started baa'ing at the customer and prancing around him until the man got fed up and left. I'd never seen anything like it! I had to shake his hand afterward, and he gave me the order his customer refused for free."

Hawke wrinkled her nose and leaned forward to dig her elbow into a particularly stubborn knot. "You'd better not let Snowflake find out."

"Ow! Speaking of tenderizing meat. Easy with the merchandise, Hawke."

"Crybaby." Hawke scooted down and focused instead on rubbing the pads of her thumbs into the dimples at the base of his spine. "So what'd you end up doing with the mystery meat?"

"I gave it to Corff, of course. It was a little stringy. Venison, I think, but it's better than whatever he keeps trying to slip into his specials. Don't worry. Snowflake and his kind are safe from me. I'll even swear it upon the ancestors."

"Varric, your ancestors lived in tunnels and ate hallucinogenic mushrooms. I highly doubt they'd give a shit either way." Hawke abandoned the thread of conversation and the G-rated massage when she grabbed his ass with both hands and gave him a firm squeeze. "Are you sufficiently wooed yet, princess? Can I get to the main event?"

Varric pushed up onto his elbows and tried to glare over his shoulder at her, but he couldn't twist his head that far around. "I hope you're not planning on just sticking it in, Hawke."

"I know how much you hate surprises. Get on your hands and knees and trust me for once."

"I still have the scars from the last time you said that."

Despite his grumblings, Varric did as directed when Hawke climbed off him. She was pleased to discover his cock hanging full and heavy between his legs. She was tempted to reach underneath and stroke him, but she didn't want him to come too soon. It would probably feel better if he was a little wound up. She squeezed and kneaded the muscles in his backside until Varric huffed and shifted impatiently.

"Are you making bread back there or what?"

Hawke wondered if his impatience had more to do with nerves or anticipation. Eager to find out for herself, she spread him apart with her hands and blew softly over his hole. The sensation was nothing like Anders' elemental magic, but Varric nearly choked on his tongue all the same. He lurched forward and Hawke had to catch him around the hips before he fell over the edge of the bed.

"Warn a guy next time!" Varric snapped as if his dick wasn't poking Hawke urgently in the forearm.

"Varric," she purred, nipping lightly at his cheek and soothing the bite with a flick of her tongue. "I'm going to stick my tongue in your ass and then use my fingers to open you up for my cock, lover. Does that work for you?"

"Fuck, Hawke." Varric shuddered, already gasping as his cock drooled copious amounts of precome onto her sheets. Hawke encircled him with her hand and he warbled out a moan as he tried to thrust into her loose grip.

"Yes?" she prompted, giving him a teasing squeeze.

"Nnnh... Shit.  _Fine_." He sounded angry and desperately turned on, but it still wasn't what Hawke wanted to hear.

"Yes, I can fuck your ass? Or I could get some rope and leave you tied to my bed like this all day. Doesn't matter to me."

"Maker take you, Hawke." Varric's sides were heaving like a bellows. Hawke didn't move while she waited for his answer, lips still pursed to blow. After a small eternity, he pounded his fist against the mattress and growled. "Yes, all right?  _Yes._ "

"I expected more eloquence from such a famous author, but I'll take it."

"I-Infamous, perhaps."

Hawke mentally rolled her eyes at Varric's inability to let anyone else have the last word, but she was determined to make him forget any word that wasn't her name. Never one to turn down a challenge, Hawke spread him apart again and stabbed the clenched ring of his hole with her tongue. She heard him bite back a curse, but he didn't try to get away when she gentled her intrusion and lapped at him with kittenish licks that made him drop down onto his forearms with a shudder.

He was hairier than she was used to in a partner, but he'd probably take to wearing a chastity belt the second she alluded to waxing. She didn't mind the crinkle of hair against her face or tongue, and he was clean from their sponge bath. It was easy enough to lose herself to the act, sucking at his most vulnerable place with tender kisses, laving him open with her tongue, and reaching underneath to slap his hand away when he made a desperate grab for his cock.

"Hwwk." Varric muffled his protest into a pillow and gripped the sheets with both hands when she gave his ass a warning smack.

She enjoyed the way his skin, pale where the sun didn't shine, reddened from the contact so she smacked him again just for fun. It was tempting to get carried away when he groaned and shifted his knees apart, but Hawke had started this with a goal in mind. She wouldn't be satisfied until she got to see Varric speared on the end of her cock.

"Turn over." Hawke swatted him one last time for luck and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand when he flopped onto his side with a groan. "I'm guessing you never had your Deep Roads explored before?"

"You're  _killing_  me, Hawke. And I don't just mean the terrible puns."

"Oh, suck it up, you baby. You don't know what I'd give to have a prostate." She grinned at the filthy look he shot her. "You're not quite ready to be fucked yet. I think I'll start with my fingers and work my way up from there. How does that sound to you?"

"Ugghhh."

"Not quite the magic word I was going for, but I'll take it. Shout if you need me to stop."

She pushed him onto his back and reached for the bottle of oil. She poured a liberal amount into her palm, accidentally spilling some onto her sheets. They weren't nearly as nice as Varric's anyway. He flung an arm over his eyes when she pushed his knee toward his chest and probed between his legs with slick fingers. He was still wet from earlier and her first finger slipped inside without any resistance until she was two knuckles deep. He made a sound of discomfort and clenched up around her, preventing her from moving any further without taking the risk of hurting him.

Hawke curled her free hand around his slightly wilted cock and stroked him back to hardness, patiently waiting until he relaxed enough so she could slide her finger back out. She let him get used to the sensation of her tracing slick circles around his hole until he stopped flinching and started to thrust in tiny, aborted movements.

"You're doing so well," she said softly, trying not to startle him as she leaned down and mouthed a kiss against his jaw. "There you go. Open up for me, sweetheart."

"I'm not one of your brothel girls, Hawke!" Varric protested, but he was laughing when he dropped his arm against the mattress and stared up at the bed's canopy. "That's it. You've been spending  _way_  too much time with my cousin. You're cut off."

"First I can't drink and now you won't even let me have my weekly dose of dwarves with terrible pickup lines? I have nothing else, Varric. At least let me have this."

"No more talking. Just...get on with it."

"Well, with that ringing endorsement..."

" _Hawke._ "

Hawke grinned but knew better than to press her luck before he changed his mind. Hawke wiggled onto her stomach between his legs and gripped him by the base of his cock as she swallowed down any further protests. She suckled at the head of his cock while she slowly worked two and then three fingers inside him, adding more oil until each thrust squished obscenely and he started leaking down the back of her throat.

"If...If you don't want this all over within the next five seconds, H-Hawke..."

Hawke could feel he was close even though she purposefully missed his prostate. Six months with no one but Messere Five-Fingers for company was a long time. He had to be dying from pent-up lust at this point. She pulled off with a wet slurp but left her fingers motionless inside to keep him from clenching up again.

"How are you feeling, Varric? Do you need more preparation or do you think you're ready? I can keep this up all night. Just say the word."

"No more. Please." Varric's voice sounded raw like he'd been screaming even though she'd barely gotten a peep out of him. Hawke withdrew her fingers and backed away at once, eyes wide with concern that she'd hurt him or given him the bad touch.

"No, I mean I'm ready. You can use that thing on me now if you want," he said.

He gestured toward the contraption strapped between her legs without looking directly at her artificial cock. They both jumped when a burst of lightning flashed unexpectedly outside. It was followed by a crack of thunder that rattled the window pane and interrupted the gentle patter of rain in the background with a roaring deluge as the sky broke open.

"Maker's hairy fucking ballsacks!" Hawke swore vehemently, sitting up to clutch at her chest.

"There's my Hawke."

"See if I try to sweet talk you anymore, dwarf," Hawke scowled.

The sky had been overcast earlier, but it was nearly pitch black as the rain came down in sheets, battering against the building relentlessly. The roof had been a fucking bitch to repair - and costly - but Hawke was glad she dredged up the coin to cover the expense or else they would be drowning right now.

"I hope Mother and Snowflake made it home all right." Hawke glanced toward the window. She winced as another fork of lightning struck nearby and felt an answering ache in her shoulder.

"We can go check." Varric leaned up on his elbow while Hawke pawed at the nightstand for a candle.

"Nice try, but you're not getting out of this yet. A little rain won't kill anyone." Hawke managed to get the candle lit after a little creative swearing and wasting about ten matches.

Where was a mage with a handy fire spell when she needed one?

"Tell that to the next person who catches pneumonia."

In the flickering light of the candle and the occasional flashes of lightning outside, Varric's profile looked mysterious and alluring. The room was a little stuffy and humid, but she appreciated the ambiance. She wanted to capture this scene in her memory forever and never leave her room again. The amount of trust he had in her didn't seem to have an end despite how many times she'd fallen woefully short of his expectations.

She set the candleholder down on the table and abandoned the matches as she crawled over him and caught his mouth in a fierce kiss. It wasn't until he tugged on her hair and mumbled out an objection that she remembered where her tongue had been. They'd had sex multiple times in the Deep Roads after going weeks without bathing so he had no room to talk. He relented and kissed her back almost at once, lashing her tongue with his own and trying to claim a little dominance back. Hawke nipped at his lips and chased a trail of biting kisses down his neck. She sucked her mark into all of the places his low-cut tunics left bare so everyone would know the Marian Hawke and Varric Tethras – Marric? TethrasHawke? – team were back in business.

A part of her wanted to bite him, to tear chunks out of his flesh and swallow down pieces of him to keep inside herself forever, but she'd already promised she wasn't going to cannibalize him. Instead, she left so many hickeys and bite marks on his chest that he was going to have to wear a scarf the next time he went outside despite the summer heat. She would have let him borrow Bethany's scarf if she'd managed to hold onto it, except she didn't want to think about the way she'd been bound and gagged with it by her would-be rapists.

A frisson of fear went down her spine anyway. She was struck with the irrational urge to place her back to the wall and check all the wardrobes and dark corners of her room. Varric, of course, caught her hesitation. Instead of demanding a timeout or calling the scene quits, he caught her face between his hands and brushed a soft kiss against her mouth.

"Let's light a few more candles, huh? I know you're dying to get a good look at this ruggedly handsome face of mine," he said softly, stroking his thumbs back and forth over her cheekbones.

Hawke's breath came out in quick puffs against his lips, but she was grateful he didn't ask her if she was all right or ready to jump into bed with a man so soon after being attacked. She rested their foreheads together and grounded herself in the steady reassurance of his hands and the warm press of his chest against her own. She matched her breaths to his, slow and steady, until her heartbeat calmed. Hawke kissed him one more time before she got up. She used the excuse of lighting candles and starting a fire to turn away and swipe at the moisture on her cheeks.

Hawke felt better when the kindling ignited on the first try and light from the fireplace filled the room with a soft glow. She cracked open the window just enough to circulate fresh air without letting in the rain before returning to bed. Varric had made himself comfortable, kicking the covers to the foot of the bed and lounging back on the ridiculous amount of throw pillows Aveline insisted she have.

The woman lived in a barracks. Where she got her ideas on interior decorating and baking cakes Hawke would never know.

"If you're done arranging yourself like a virgin offering." Hawke rested her hands on her hips as she stopped at the bedside to take in and appreciate the view.

He folded his arms behind his head and flexed for her, displayed in all of his nude, masculine glory. He was a feast to look at; broad chest and shoulders, powerful thighs, and a lush carpet of hair that trailed down his belly to encircle the base of his thick cock. He was soft against his thigh, but he was gazing back at her with a terribly roguish smirk on his face. He took her breath away in the moments she was least expecting it. The exasperated look he gave her when she rolled her eyes and pretended to be unimpressed only made her heart ache, missing him all over again.

"How do you want me?" Varric's eyes flicked down briefly to the phallus jutting out between her legs, but he seemed less nervous.

"It's easier on your hands and knees." Hawke sat on the edge of the bed and reached for the nearly empty bottle of oil. He watched as she drizzled the oil over her cock and smoothed her fingers along the length, making the leather slick and gleaming.

"I want to see you." Varric reached out and caught her hand. He tangled their fingers together so they could stroke her together.

He seemed more curious than terrified by Hawke's new toy, which was a good first step. Each downward stroke rubbed the base against her clit, drawing Hawke's breath up short as she worked her hips into their combined grasp. When she was slick enough, she rested a hand against his shoulder and pressed him back into the pillows. She wedged a pillow beneath his hips for support and fingered him briefly before she knelt into position between his legs. The height difference and lack of sensation made getting her dick inside difficult, but he didn't seem to mind the sway of her breasts in his face.

She went slowly, guiding her cock with a hand wrapped around the base as Varric opened up for her. She stopped every time he hissed or grunted and waited for him to relax before working a little more inside. By the time she was seated to the hilt, straps of the harness digging into her hips and the backs of Varric's thighs, Varric was sweating and shaking uncontrollably as he clutched at her back.

"Talk to me, Varric," Hawke murmured against the crown of his head as she curled over him. "Are you doing all right?"

"Fucking...peachy...Hawke." Varric sounded like he was gritting his teeth, but he had his face buried between her breasts so she couldn't say for certain. He shifted beneath her and made a noise that sounded disconcerting until he gasped and his dick twitched back to life between their stomachs. "Oh, Andraste's ass.  _Move_."

Hawke huffed out a laugh and rocked her hips experimentally. She winced at the bite of his fingers and knew he was going to leave his own set of bruises on her skin that she welcomed wholeheartedly. Hawke maintained a slow pace, never fully withdrawing more than a few millimeters until Varric's grip eased and he started to move along with her shallow rocking motions.

Varric muffled his grunts against her chest, though the continuous leaking of his dick was proof enough of how much he didn't mind being on the receiving end. Varric wrapped his legs around her hips and tried to rush her, but she had him well and truly pinned. Hawke pushed up onto her hands so she wasn't crushing him quite so much, but he clung to her like a limpet and didn't let her move too far away.

"Does this ride go any faster?" Varric groused, fighting to get purchase but the pillows kept slipping under his back. "Who the fuck needs this many pillows?"

"Aveline." Hawke didn't increase her pace at all, but she rolled her hips to add a little extra  _oomph_  to each thrust.

"C'mon, Hawke. I'm not gonna break." Varric struggled beneath her for a few seconds longer before he collapsed with a frustrated groan that edged into outrage when he realized what was going on. "Are you  _making love_  to me?"

"Look at you taking my cock so well. You're so good for me, Varric. So sweet. I could have you strung out on the end of my cock all night and you'd just take it, wouldn't you?"

Isabela had bet her ages ago that Varric, shameless rogue and tell-all, was incapable of blushing. Hawke had refused to take the bet - with good reason – but she was kicking herself now. Hawke would bet the people in Ferelden could see Varric lit up like a beacon through her bedroom window as she crooned lavish praise and fucked him with all the tenderness she was capable of.

" _Hawke_."

Varric's voice was little more than a croak when Hawke angled up and successfully found his prostate, grinding his cock mercilessly between their bellies. The last of his resistance crumbled away as he clutched at her and moaned, shooting a hot, sticky flood of come that dribbled down and stained her thoroughly ruined bedding.

"You owe me new sheets, Tethras," Hawke said as she eased him through his orgasm. She chased the pulses of pleasure between her legs until he was a limp, shivering mess amidst the dozen or so pillows scattered across her bed.

"You're welcome to use mine anytime, Marian."

"Eugh. Don't call me that."

"Whatever you say, sugar bear."

Hawke slipped out of him carefully and nipped his smirking mouth before she dismantled her harness and wiped them both down with a damp rag. Hawke didn't mind if he flopped there uselessly and let her handle the cleanup. His eyes were closed and he had an exhausted but satisfied curve to his well-kissed lips. A part of her felt like she'd regained some of her power back after Willum and those other men at the Rose had so easily and callously ripped it away from her. She didn't need a cock to strike terror into her enemies' hearts, but getting Varric to agree to bottoming and having him come his brains out without a hand on him was definitely a boost to her ego.

She cleaned the dildo thoroughly and replaced the items back in her trunk before she joined Varric on the bed for a well-deserved cuddle. Even if they never did this again, Hawke was proud of him for going out of his comfort zone. She was also proud of herself for making up with Anders like an adult and for pushing through her trauma.

"Was that okay?" Hawke asked uncertainly as she curled around him and rubbed his lower back and thighs.

"That...was  _amazing_. Ten out of ten. But we might have to save repeat performances for anniversaries or birthdays. I don't think I could walk even if a group of assassins burst in here. I hope you're planning on feeding me breakfast in bed."

"We'll see. I hope Mother's not expecting us for dinner."

"Way to kill the mood, Hawke."

"It's what I do best."

Hawke nuzzled his neck and sighed when he stroked the damp hair between her legs, tracing the line of her slit with his broad, callused fingers. She hadn't come yet, but she was in no hurry. His touches were more sensual than sexual, keeping her on a low-level thrum of pleasure without rushing her to orgasm. He took his time exploring her, dipping between her folds to rub slow circles around her clit and get his fingers slick before having his turn at her ass.

They found their equilibrium in comfortable silence. Hawke handed him the smaller dildo she'd set aside earlier and he filled her ass with it before she directed him to the comically huge replica cock Isabela had gifted her for her birthday. Judging from the look on Varric's face, he would have run and assumed another identity if Hawke had tried to get that anywhere near him. He left the first dildo where it was and watched, enraptured, as he worked the grey, Qunari-sized cock inside of her.

"I can't decide if it's hot or giving me a complex," he said as the giant dildo finally went as deep as it was going to with a few inches to spare, stretching Hawke to her limits.

The ridged underside rubbed her in all the right places. She reached back and worked the dildo in her ass in counterpoint to Varric's cautious thrusts. Hawke couldn't speak as she threw her head back against the pillows and came with a harsh cry, clenching around both intrusions and thrashing until all but a few pillows ended up on the floor.

"No... No competition," Hawke panted when she caught her breath.

Fuck the Bone Pit. What Hawke needed to invest in was expanding her toy collection so she and Varric could bone each other in a variety of interesting and increasingly depraved ways.

"Me or the cock?"

"If you have to ask, Varric, then someone's not doing his job."

"I'll be sure to keep you on a short leash the next time we visit the Qunari compound."

Varric eased the toys out of her and took care of clean up that time. The rainstorm had finally died down and he paused at the window to open it up further and allow a fresh breeze to enter the room.

"I guess the Arenbergs got their free show." Hawke shivered and tugged the covers back onto the bed. She left the cushions on the floor because no one seriously needed that many throw pillows. She'd fallen out of bed enough times they would probably serve a better purpose there anyway.

"Nice weather we've been having, eh, Lord Arenberg?" Varric cupped his hands around his mouth and shouted out of the window before waving at someone Hawke couldn't see.

"Varric Tethras! Get away from there before the neighbors call the Guard on us!"

"Oh, like they're not here every other week anyway."

Varric left the window open and strolled back to bed as naked as the day he was born, but with significantly more body hair. On second thought, Hawke hadn't actually seen a dwarf baby before. For all she knew, they came out of the womb with a fully-grown beard and a voice that could make mountains tremble.

"Aveline doesn't count," Hawke said and tugged him down onto the bed. She tossed the blankets over them both before wrapping herself around Varric.

They could stand to miss dinner for one night. She didn't want to see Bodahn and Orana's confused faces when Leandra had the wine cellar emptied out. Perhaps she should warn her mother about the bodies down there, and Anders, but she was already yawning into Varric's shoulder by the time the thought occurred to her.

"Aveline always counts. She  _is_  the Guard." Varric echoed her yawn and pulled her closer, pressing a kiss to her temple before settling down to sleep. "Night, Hawke."

She wasn't looking forward to learning how to live without her morning, afternoon, and evening imbibements, but Hawke was pleased to discover she could still feel drunk without needing a drop of alcohol in her system.

Maybe she could handle this sobriety thing after all.

"Night, princess."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A grumpy Varric is a happy Varric: [Link](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dOqdVh6a9dM)! Except when he’s in the Deep Roads... XD


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Vomiting, gore, horror, rape, cannibalism, broodmothers, etc. This chapter is basically the culmination of everything horrible I have done to Hawke or have yet to do (through hallucinations brought on by withdrawal). I swear I love her and things should get better from here (I think...) But Hawke still has more than her share of demons left to face.
> 
> Take care, my darlings!

"Hawke? Wha-?" Varric startled awake in bleary-eyed confusion when Hawke kicked him in an effort to get the covers off as quickly as possible. Her heartbeat was racing and all of her nerve endings were screaming like someone had lit her on fire.

It was still dark outside and most of the candles had burned down to stubs, but the glowing coals from the fireplace provided enough light to see by. Hawke saw him grope automatically for Bianca, but the crossbow was on her desk on the other side of the room. She tried to tell him everything was fine once she realized there was no fire, but instead of words a torrent of bile forcefully and violently ejected itself all down her front when she opened her mouth. She wasn't wearing any clothes, but the sheets weren't nearly so lucky.

"Holy shit!" Varric tried to get out of the way and reach for her at the same time. "Are you- Fuck, where are those vases?"

Hawke leaned over the edge of the bed and threw up again, half-sobbing, half-gagging as acid burned her esophagus and nasal passage. She belatedly remembered there were pillows scattered on the floor, but she was going to have to burn her entire bed at this point - possibly with her in it.

She stopped heaving long enough to fall out of bed, locate the chamberpot, and direct her aim there instead of at Aveline's terrible cushions. She knelt amidst her mess and clung to the bowl for ages. White-hot spokes of pain flared behind her eyes every time she shuddered with alternating chills and fever. She was used to waking up hungover, but she hadn't had a drop of alcohol since the previous night. This felt a thousand times worse than any hangover she'd ever had. Maybe she caught pneumonia from leaving the window open. Or she'd come down with the flu or food poisoning or got sick from sticking her tongue in places she shouldn't have.

Varric found fresh candles in her drawer and cleaned her up as best he could while avoiding stepping in her sick. She refused to be parted from the chamberpot or the floor, so he draped a housecoat around her shoulders and rubbed her back as Hawke retched miserably. She was caught in a horrible cycle as her migraine fed into the nausea. Throwing up elevated the pain to excruciating levels until she was sobbing as quietly as she could manage, hunched over the bowl. She would have begged Varric to shoot her in the head and put her out of her misery if she thought he'd actually do it this time.

"This isn't a normal fever." Varric's voice was strained as he stroked her sweaty bangs back from her forehead and felt her temperature with his lips. "Wait here and don't move. I'm going to get Leandra and Blondie. Don't you dare die on me, Hawke."

Hawke didn't respond to his worry-induced jest and pressed her face into Varric's hip as he gently manhandled her into the housecoat and tied the cloth belt around her waist. He threw on his pants, boots, and tunic, left a cup of water within reach on the floor, and grabbed Bianca before running to get help in a far more dramatic manner than the situation called for.

Snowflake came slinking into the room not even two seconds later. He nosed at her tear-streaked cheek and whined softly before going to lie down on his favorite rug. He kept vigil in his usual manner when she was hungover and miserable. Meaning, he fell asleep and started snoring right away.

"Marian?" Leandra's voice came from the doorway, along with the flicker of candlelight.

"Murgh," Hawke responded into the chamberpot.

"Oh, darling." Leandra set down the candle she'd been carrying and hurried to Hawke's side. "Varric said you weren't feeling well and went to find a healer friend of yours. But then he disappeared into our basement."

Hawke almost laughed at Leandra's bewilderment, except her stomach hurt too much and she didn't want to chance setting off another round of heaving. There wasn't much Leandra could do for Hawke, but she closed the window, shooed Snowflake out of the room, and added a log into the fireplace when Hawke's fever transitioned into teeth-shattering chills. Leandra stripped the bed and went to wake Bodahn, Orana, and Sandal to help clean up and get a bath ready for her.

When Anders arrived, he swooped down on Hawke and began poking and prodding her without any hesitation. Varric staggered into the room and clutched at the doorway several minutes later, looking windblown and out of breath.

"Damn humans and their freakishly long legs!" he complained as soon as he had the breath to spare.

"Orana and Bodahn are heating up water now. Oh. Hello." Leandra returned with an armful of clean linen and paused when she saw Anders crouching next to the bed with Hawke's head in his hands, faces inches apart. "You must be... I'm afraid I didn't catch your name?"

"Leandra, this is the mage Hawke's been hiding in your basement," Varric interjected before they could make proper introductions. He leaned against the doorframe and smirked, recovered from his long sprint. "I call him Blondie, but he's also been known to go by abomination - if you're a certain broody elf."

"I do actually prefer to be called Anders." Anders let go of Hawke's face and picked up her wrist before giving Leandra a grim nod. "I wish we were meeting under better circumstances, Madame."

"Please, call me Leandra. Do you know what's wrong with Marian, Anders?"

"Marian...? Oh. You mean Hawke."

"You didn't  _actually_ think that was her name, did you, Blondie?"

"It's not like I've ever heard her called anything else." Anders sounded irritated, but he concluded his quick but thorough examination by inspecting Hawke's heartbeat, lymph nodes, pupils, and even the contents of the chamberpot. Being a mage didn't get him out of the more grisly aspects of healing, unfortunately.

"From what I can tell, and from what Varric's told me, it appears Hawke is going through the early stages of alcohol withdrawal. I'm afraid there's not much we can do other than keep an eye on her and let the illness run its course."

"Can't you give her something for the pain?" Leandra asked, continuing their trend of speaking over Hawke like she wasn't there. Admittedly, she wasn't feeling particularly chatty at the moment and feared opening her mouth lest more than words come spewing out.

"When there's possible addiction involved the last thing we want is to have her become dependant on another substance. Even elfroot potion might do more harm than good in the long run. There's also a possibility some of her symptoms might be psychosomatic."

"Meaning?" Varric prompted.

"In her own head. Everyone's reactions to withdrawal are different. It's hard to predict how long she'll feel like this, but it's generally worse the longer and more excessively someone's been drinking."

It felt pretty fucking real to her. Hawke didn't want anyone,  _especially_  her mother, to know how bad her drinking had gotten, but there was no hiding it now. It was difficult to deny she had a problem when she was covered in vomit, yet all she wanted was a stiff drink to numb the pain and ease the cravings beginning to overwhelm all other senses.

"We both stopped drinking at the same time, so why aren't I all...y'know...blerrrggh? Sorry, sweetheart." Varric shrugged apologetically when Hawke shot him a glare promising death as soon as she stopped  _feeling_  like death.

"That's probably your dwarven constitution. I hear your kind are generally more tolerant of strong spirits."

"Weaned straight from the teat to the liquor bottle, that's us dwarves. Maybe even literally in my case. My mother could have drunk both Hawke and me under the table, but she died a few years back from a diseased liver."

"I'm sorry about your mother," Anders said soberly.

Because he was sober. Just like Hawke and everything else her miserable, miserable life.

"I'm afraid the symptoms are only going to get worse before they get better. I've seen this before with templars who stop taking lyrium. It's the only time I ever feel remotely sorry for the poor bastards."

"Not helping," Hawke growled, fighting off another wave of sickness.

"If I could do more I promise you I would, Hawke. I can't stand seeing anyone like this and not being able to help. Especially you."

The tenderness in Anders' voice was so apparent that Hawke feared to look in her mother's direction. She didn't want to know what Leandra thought about this new stranger who Varric had run straight to for help and who seemed intimately familiar with Hawke's body and habits. Also, Leandra had yet to mention the love bites scattered all over Varric's chest or the glaringly obvious fact he had stayed the night. Whatever she might have said was interrupted when Orana, Bodahn, and Sandal entered carrying buckets of steaming water.

The dwarves started filling up the copper tub sitting in the corner of the room without delay. Anders and Varric helped a protesting Hawke into a chair so Orana could dispose of the throw pillows, clean the floor, and rinse out the chamberpot before hurriedly returning it to Hawke when she made desperate grabby hands for it. Hawke thought she had to be running on empty, but she'd be wrong. Unlike with hangovers, throwing up this time made her feel ten times worse and there didn't seem to be an end in sight.

"I'll bring tea. Then we'll get you cleaned up and back into bed so you can rest, love," Leandra said before following the procession of helpers out the door.

"You'll probably want to keep a bucket and the chamberpot nearby," Anders said when it was only the three of them. "Your body's trying to eject the poison as fast as it can, anyway it can. It won't be pretty."

"It's a good thing we love her for more than her looks," Hawke thought she heard Varric say, but she felt like there was cotton stuffed between her ears.

The room wouldn't stop spinning even though she was sitting down. Varric's hand on her cheek was the only thing that kept her from toppling out of the chair. Hawke closed her eyes and leaned into the touch with a soft, miserable moan. She was burning up and Varric's warm hand felt cool in comparison.

The icy tendrils of frost prickling the air were her only warning before chilled fingertips hesitantly brushed her unclaimed cheek. She didn't need to open her eyes to know Anders' touch, heightened by magic. There must have been a silent signal between the two men because Varric's hand dropped down to rest on Hawke's shoulder while Anders' cold hands replaced his on her face. He seemed emboldened when she leaned greedily into his touch. He swept a path from her overheated cheeks to the tips of her ears, chasing the fever away.

Hawke tilted her face toward him and felt the heat of her breath pass her dry, cracked lips in stark contrast to his ice magic when she exhaled in relief. Anders curled his hands around the back of her neck and rested his thumbs on either side of her trachea, easing her swollen lymph nodes enough that she could swallow.

Hawke was shaking from more than just the cold by the time his hands slipped inside her gaping robe. One went down the back of her collar to press between her shoulder blades and the other covered the top of her chest. His long fingers spanned the entire length of her collarbones and her nipples tightened in response, but he didn't take the opportunity to grope her properly. His thumb and forefinger rested loosely against the base of her throat until her lungs no longer felt like they were on fire. If she'd been feeling more like herself, she would have grabbed his hand and shown him exactly where the fever had receded beneath her housecoat.

Anders' hands vanished when footsteps approached up the stairs. Hawke blinked her eyes open and saw him flush like he'd pulled her fever into himself. The three of them looked anywhere except at each other as Bodahn and Sandal unloaded more buckets of hot water, Orana made the bed, and Leandra returned with peppermint tea. Leandra urged Hawke to take small sips while her room was put back to rights.

Hawke was a little more coherent by the time the bath was deemed ready. The servants finished and disappeared to their respective bedrooms to sleep until a more respectable hour. Bodahn quietly closed the door behind him, leaving Leandra, Varric, and Anders in the room with Hawke. She stood with Varric and Anders' help, feeling tired, gross, and achy all over. Despite the fever creeping back into the places Anders had abandoned, a hot bath sounded wonderful.

"Marian!" Leandra shot her a scandalized glare when Hawke yanked at the belt to her housecoat and started to disrobe right there.

"I'm not going to bathe with my clothes on, Mother," Hawke said irritably before adding as an aside, "It's nothing all of you haven't seen anyway."

"Be that as it may, Varric and Anders won't mind waiting outside while you soak. Will you, boys?"

"No, ma'am." Varric knew better than to argue with a Hawke woman on a mission. He grabbed Anders' arm and led him out before Anders could stutter out denials or explanations about being Hawke's physician. "Trust me, Blondie. Leandra will make sure Hawke doesn't drown herself."

"Don't be too sure of that!" Hawke winced as her own voice sent a spike of pain burrowing into her skull. She caught Leandra's frown and decided now was a good time to stop talking. She could practically feel the waves of curiosity wafting off her mother, but Hawke was in no position to try and explain either of her relationships.

The tub was set behind a privacy screen, but Leandra still followed Hawke to make sure she didn't actually drown herself. Hawke nearly slipped as she stepped into the tub, but gentle hands steadied her. She hissed when all gentleness disappeared and Leandra's nails dug into her arm, catching her in an awkward squat before pulling Hawke upright again. Leandra's face had gone drawn and pale as she unabashedly catalogued the impressive collection of cuts, scars, and bruises all over Hawke's body.

...There was also the giant tattoo on her ribs she might have forgotten to mention.

The elfroot potion she'd taken at Anders' clinic had sped up the healing process so most of her bruises, save for the fresh ones Varric had left last night, were in mottled stages of green, yellow, and brown. Hawke came home injured more often than not in her line of work, but she didn't have Bethany around to heal her less life-threatening injuries anymore. Her close call with the ogre hadn't left a mark thanks to Anders' healing, but Hawke was painfully aware of the number of scars on her body that had nearly killed her; the still-pink wound on her inner arm from the Wounded Coast, the sundered meat of her thigh from Sundermount, and the seemingly innocuous scar on her neck, barely an inch long, from the Deep Roads.

Hawke had numerous other scars, but she felt hyperaware of those three in particular. The fact one had been an actual suicide attempt on her part – admittedly, to avoid a worse fate than death – made her feel ashamed for joking about drowning herself. Leandra had already lost her husband and two of her children. Now she was face-to-face with evidence of just how close she'd come to losing all three. Color returned to her cheeks as she finally let Hawke sit down and dunk herself quickly in the water.

"Anders seems nice," Leandra said, sounding deceptively neutral. She picked up a lavender-scented bar of soap from the tray next to the tub and began to wash Hawke's hair for her.

It turned out to be the more preferable conversation topic after all.

Once Hawke was washed, dressed, and tucked into bed, Leandra let Varric and Anders back into her room. She aimed a thoughtful look at the three of them when Varric kicked off his boots and rappelled up the bed to sit next to her, and Anders pulled up a chair on her other side.

Neither appeared to have intentions of leaving anytime soon. Thankfully, Leandra didn't follow that look with another impromptu interrogation. She brought them all tea and toast as the darkness outside the window lightened to a soft grey and retired to her room once she was assured Hawke was in good hands. She did leave the door ajar on her way out, even though Hawke was in no condition to get up to her usual shenanigans.

"Are you supposed to be up here?" Varric scolded when Snowflake snuck in and jumped onto the bed. He turned in a circle and made himself as tiny as possible at the foot of the bed – as if Hawke wouldn't notice the enormous mabari shedding all over her duvet.

" _No_ ," Hawke said sternly, but Snowflake only huffed and buried his muzzle beneath his paw before pretending to snore. "Ah, forget it. I'm too tired to argue."

"You should get some sleep, too, Hawke," Varric said.

"Neither of you needs to stick around. I'll just nap for a bit and I'll be fine," Hawke said around a yawn. She had a few nibbles of toast, half a cup of tea, and so far managed to keep it all down.

"You heard Blondie. This gets worse before it gets better. You might be over the first hump, but who knows how many hurdles are left."

"If this is your version of a pep talk then I have to say it sucks. I'm sure both of you have better things to do than watch me sleep and hurl into a bucket."

"I admit, it's not my first choice as far as dates go..."

"You see!"

" _But_ ," Varric interrupted, "lucky for you, I have nowhere else I need to be today. Blondie?"

"Same."

Anders folded his arms across his chest and leaned back in the chair. Both men seemed prepared to wait as long as necessary until they were certain she wasn't going to choke on her own vomit in her sleep. She also suspected Snowflake had orders from her mother to sit on her if she tried to sneak out and raid the wine cellar. The pounding in her head had only downgraded to a slightly more tolerable throb at the base of her skull, and she wasn't up to arguing with her three sentinels. As annoying as the hovering was, a part of her had missed their fussing.

Maker, she had missed them.

"Did you hurt yourself, Varric? I forgot to mention it sooner, but I noticed you limping on the way back here," Anders asked when he caught Varric shifting around to find a more comfortable seated position. It took everything in Hawke to choke back laughter when Varric stiffened before making a conscious effort to relax.

"Old war injury. Nothing to worry about."

"But you were never... Never mind. I probably don't want to know."

"Smart  _and_  lethal. Careful, or you'll give Blondies everywhere a bad rep."

Varric's Wicked Grace face was firmly back in place, but he pinched Hawke when she snorted into his shoulder, unable to help herself. Anders, bless him, didn't pursue the matter even though he had to know something was up.

"I'm going to sleep. Feel free to join me or not," Hawke announced to the room in general.

Snowflake began snoring extra loud as if to make a point. Varric kicked off his pants and got under the covers with her, but she was disappointed when Anders remained firmly rooted to his seat. Even remembering Anders' clinical, ice-infused touch was enough to light a fire in Hawke, and she pressed her thighs together hard.

Despite feeling like death, her body's continued response to him unsettled her more than she wanted to admit. It was unlikely she'd be able to find another healer-Warden-apostate hiding in Darktown to accompany her on risky jobs or tend to her injuries and illnesses. She knew if she truly wanted them to be friends (without benefits) again, she would need to shut down her lingering attraction to Anders and devote herself to her actual lover.

She tucked herself around Varric and hoped if she held on tight enough she would be able to ignore the empty space at her back.

* * *

Though it had been nearly dawn by the time Hawke drifted off to sleep, the room was cold and dark when she woke. The last thing she remembered was the soft hum of Varric and Anders' voices mingling with Snowflake's persistent snores, but she heard nothing except oppressive silence when she stretched out her senses and limbs. There was no telling weight warming her feet from Snowflake's bulk, and the indent where Varric had been lying had gone cold as well.

She must have slept the entire day away. She was a little disappointed to wake up alone, but she knew neither Varric nor Anders could afford to slack off in their duties despite what they claimed. Varric was constantly bombarded with work between keeping up with the Merchant's Guild, his spy network, and handling their investments from the expedition while Anders had no end of patients seeking his attention in Darktown.

At least her head and stomach had calmed. She fumbled blindly for the nightstand and used up the remaining book of matches to light a single candle. She saw something out of the corner of her eye and jerked back when the candle's light illuminated the unmoving, dark-haired figure lying only an arm's length away from her. It – he – was on his side, face covered in blood and eyes clouded over in death.

The flame danced wildly as she brought the candle closer. She gasped and jerked back when recognition hit her like a blow. Melted wax splashed over the back of her hand, but she didn't feel the burn through her shock. Despite the gore, she  _knew_  that shaggy black hair, stubborn jaw, and pale skin so very much like her own.

"C-Carver?" Hawke was numb with denial, unable to blink or breathe as she gazed upon the corpse of her recently-dead brother.

She knew there was no possible way Carver's body could have made the journey from Ferelden to Kirkwall all on its own, but the solid mass denting the mattress and the odor of rot and decay wafting from him was real enough. All of her instincts were demanding she grab her daggers and run as fast as possible, but the impulse to reach out and make certain she wasn't dreaming was stronger.

Carver's skin was cold and waxy when she squeezed his large bicep. Her fingers left deep grooves in his arm long after she snatched her hand away. As much as she wanted to deny the evidence right in front of her, there was someone...or something...undeniably in the bed with her. She'd made no few number of enemies over the years. One of them could have snuck in to leave the corpse as a warning. Whether or not the body truly belonged her brother or an unfortunately accurate look-alike remained to be seen.

She couldn't be entirely certain of his identity, even if the filthy jerkin and leather breeches matched what Carver had been wearing when he died. The face was misshapen and discolored - shattered by the impact of hitting the ground hard enough to pulverize bone, perhaps. The big ears, thin eyebrows - furrowed even in death - and the divot in his chin where Hawke had accidentally clipped her brother with her practice sword during a sparring match could have, theoretically, belonged to anyone.

She hesitated to touch him again but there was only one way to be certain without de-pantsing the corpse and checking for the birthmark in the shape of Orlais on the back of Carver's thigh. Hawke tried her best to ignore the man's sightless, staring eyes as she quickly yanked at the neck of his jerkin before she could lose her nerve.

"Carver!" Hawke choked out, exposing the most damning piece of evidence of all.

Impressively detailed in stark, black lines on his chest was the mabari tattoo Carver had gotten after joining the army. He'd done it before Hawke had shown up to surprise him with her own enlistment, but he'd been stupidly proud of that tattoo even though she'd teased him relentlessly for it. Her taunting still hadn't stopped him from offering to make it bark for anyone who asked. Or anyone who didn't.

She didn't know how he was here or why, only that somehow, impossibly, he was. She smoothed his shirt back into place, covering up the mabari, and brushed hair away from his deathly pale cheek with trembling fingers. She let her hand linger, feeling only bewildered sadness and deep, unrelenting regret. She would have to tell Mother and Bethany...eventually. At least Carver had been inside their family home once and would get the funeral he deserved instead of being chewed up and crapped out by vile darkspawn. She'd feared the worst when they left his and Wesley's bodies behind in Lothering, but she had a duty to protect the living and forced herself not to look back.

Hawke started to pull away so she could figure out what to do with him, but Carver's hand shot out and latched onto her wrist. She yelled and pried at his fingers frantically, dropping the candle in her panic. His hand was inhumanly strong and colder than death, refusing to let go when her bones ground together and the skin beneath his fingers blackened with frostbite. Hawke panicked when the bedding began to smoke and the odor of charred flesh filled the air as flames licked at their skin, blistering and blackening their linked hands.

Hawke screamed when Carver's mouth fell open, ejecting a thousand wriggling maggots as he uttered a hoarse, unearthly cry.

"Hawke!  _Hawke_!"

Hawke came awake screaming and fighting. The hand around her wrist disappeared and she distantly registered the bright daylight filtering in through the window as she tore at the sheets trapping her in the bed. Anders was there with a bucket when Hawke lurched to the side and heaved. She sobbed as the image of Carver's rotting corpse branded itself behind her eyelids and forced her eyes back open. They watered against the harsh sunlight and flare of blue as Anders' eyes returned to their usual amber.

Snowflake was standing on the bed, hackles raised and emitting a low growl at the invisible threat. The only other body in her bed belonged to Varric, who was patiently rubbing her back and Snowflake's ruff until the panic subsided and they both began to calm down. Snowflake flopped onto the bed with a huff and rested his chin on his paws, watching her without blinking.

"Nightmares?" Anders asked sympathetically.

Anders had jolted awake dozens of times in her arms in the Deep Roads without uttering a sound. Hawke suspected he'd conditioned himself to suppress his screams long before the Wardens recruited him. He'd always brushed his nightmares off as a side effect from the Joining, but his proximity to darkspawn couldn't have improved upon his dreams even after they'd escaped. She didn't know if she would be able to stand a lifetime of this in his position - of knowing her dead brother, darkspawn, or other manifestations of her guilty conscience were waiting for her in the dark.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Varric asked.

"What do you think?" Hawke spat into the bucket one last time before Anders took it away and offered her a damp cloth and a cup. She wiped her mouth and accepted the cup gratefully even if the contents consisted only of plain water. Her eyes kept flicking back to the unoccupied side of her bed, expecting Carver to appear at any moment. She couldn't believe how real the dream had been. As real as Varric's hand on her back, if not more so.

"You've done quite well for yourself, sister."

Hawke whipped her head around and dribbled water all down her front when she saw Carver standing near her bedroom window. He looked solid and alive, illuminated by the afternoon sun that cast his shadow across the stone floor. Her first instinct was to yell, and the second was to warn him about the Arenbergs, but she seemed to have swallowed her tongue so she did neither.

"What is it?" Anders asked, following Hawke's line of sight but saying nothing of their unexpected visitor before he turned back to her. "You look like you've seen a ghost."

"Some... Something like that."

Hawke forced her gaze away from Carver and looked at Anders, Varric, and Snowflake's worried faces. None of them noticed as he walked around the room, dragging his fingertips over the mantle and casting a critical eye over her possessions. Hawke gave her thigh a hard, vicious pinch, but the illusion or spectre or whatever the fuck he was refused to vanish.

"Lothering was our home, not this place. We could have stood our ground. You could have stopped that ogre from killing me."

"C-Can you give me a minute?" Hawke asked Varric and Anders, fighting to keep her voice from shaking. Out of the corner of her eye, she watched as Carver's skin began to peel away from his face and bare arms in wet, bloody strips like he was being flayed alive. "I...uh. Need to piss, and I'd rather not have an audience."

"If you're sure, Hawke..." Varric shared a concerned glance with Anders that spoke volumes. They were unnerved by her out of character behavior, but she had more important matters to deal with at the moment. Not having others witness her spiral into insanity would be one of them.

"Sure I have to piss? A full bladder's a bit difficult to mistake, Varric. Quit worrying and take Snowflake out with you before he piddles himself, too."

"I could stand to stretch my legs, but don't think you're getting rid of us that easily."

"We'll be right back," Anders added with one last glance toward the window.

"Take your time!"

Hawke plastered a strained smile onto her face but dropped all pleasantness the second the door closed behind them and rounded on Carver. "Something you want to get off your chest, brother? Am I hallucinating, or did jealousy and spite bring your ghost back from the Fade?"

He was studying her trunk like it contained a nest of vipers, but so far he hadn't interacted with anything physical and didn't seem inclined to snoop more than he already had. He had stopped decaying and looked more like himself. He turned toward the bed and crossed his arms over his chest, frowning petulantly.

"I was always running after you. Or taking care of Mother while you marked your territory and relied on sneaky tactics to keep the templars from catching on. If I excelled, it brought too much attention. That was a waste, huh? Could have found my fortune if Bethany was going to be captured on your watch anyway."

Hawke's shock and fear were starting to give way to the familiar rise of anger. She'd forgotten how easily Carver could provoke her. After he'd died, she was more inclined to forgive his faults and remember him fondly, but she was struggling to recall those redeeming qualities – if he had any to begin with.

"I would have liked to see you do any better."

"If you'd  _been_  better then maybe I would still be alive."

"I gave everything! Question me, Mother, yourself, but not that! And to think I actually missed your sour mug. What is this? Ghost of Satinalia past come back to haunt me?"

"It's like that Anders fellow of yours said. Perhaps I'm all in your head, sister."

"Well, then get the fuck out. I barely have room for me in there. It's hard enough convincing everyone I'm sane without getting caught talking to people who aren't there."

Hawke expected more of a fight. Between one blink and the next, he simply vanished, leaving no trace save for the rage and worry competing for dominance in Hawke's mind now that Carver wasn't there to muddle matters up more than he already had.

"Good talk," Hawke said into the empty air.

* * *

Hawke didn't want anyone else to know she was out of commission and swore Varric and Anders to secrecy when they reluctantly – albeit, temporarily – returned to their respective dwellings for a change of clothes and to take care of any last minute business. Bodahn, Orana, and Leandra promised to keep away visitors, and Sandal and Snowflake she trusted not to blab.

She'd hoped Carver had been a fluke, but as soon as Hawke started to believe the worst had passed, she was struck with an entirely new bout of horrors.

The incessant tremors that plagued her were bad, but the hallucinations were a thousand times worse. Someone had removed all sharp objects in her room when she swore she saw a spider the size of a dragonling squeeze in through her window and scuttle across her ceiling. Anders had to hit her with a paralysis spell before Varric was able to pry the dagger from her fingers. By then, the spider had disappeared and Hawke realized the window had been shut and bolted the entire time.

Knowing it was all in her head didn't silence the whispers inside her wardrobe or the claws skritching at the inside of her skull, however. Her migraines and nausea persisted, and Hawke's moods fluctuated as wildly as the weather. It wasn't long before she couldn't bear their hovering any longer and kicked everyone out of her room with a highly convincing argument involving shattered pottery, death threats, and hysterical crying.

Anders admitted there was nothing more he could do for Hawke and reluctantly returned to the clinic. Varric, stubborn dwarf that he was, only agreed to retreat as far as one of their guest bedrooms on several conditions: Her window would be barred shut for her own safety, the lock removed from her door, someone would be in to check in on her and make sure she ate at least twice a day, and Snowflake would keep guard so she wasn't entirely defenseless.

Hawke almost rescinded on the last condition after the third time Snowflake's loud, vicious snarls jolted her awake from a dead sleep, but each time she found him curled up at the foot of her bed or asleep on the rug, snoring away and blissfully unaware.

Despite her ban on company, it still didn't stop visitors from appearing at all hours of the day and night. Sometimes she would hear the sound of children's playful laughter and the patter of their feet as they ran in circles around her bed. They sang songs from her childhood as their tiny footsteps trailed ashes all over her floor and disappeared come daylight.

Other times, she heard the soft cadence of her father's voice outside her bedroom door. It sounded like he was speaking to her mother, but she couldn't make out any actual words. Malcolm had never doubted her strength once, not for a minute. When the twins had been born, he'd placed them in little three-year-old Marian's arms and tasked her with the responsibility of being their big sister and protector, no matter what. Hawke had done the best she could, but his death shortly before she and Carver left to join the army felt like it set off a chain of events that conspired to tear their family apart.

First him, and then Carver. Bethany wasn't dead, but what kind of life could she have locked away in a tower like some fairytale princess with no happy ending in sight?

Hawke clung to her pillow, wet-eyed and ashamed. She could only imagine what her father would say to her now. As the eldest child, the burden of protector and provider fell to her, but she'd failed to keep their family safe. She didn't need Carver's ghost harping on her to know how much of a disappointment she was to everyone who'd ever depended on her.

She buried her face in the pillow with a quiet sob, wishing she could go back to the days when her father would sweep her up in his arms and chase all of her fears away with a magic trick, or a bristly kiss against her forehead, or...

" _Marian_."

Hawke bolted upright and flung herself out of bed at Malcolm's gentle call, clear as a bell. She tripped over Snowflake in her haste to get to the door, but he only gave a gruff snort and flopped over onto his side without getting up. Hawke didn't hesitate as she tied her housecoat closed and wrenched the door open, stepping out of her stuffy bedroom for the first time in days.

She wanted to see her father so badly, vision or not. Even if he said nothing, she would give anything to see him smile at her one more time. Malcolm had always been larger than life and understood her in a way no one else had. There was no question she'd gotten her inappropriate sense of humor, wildness, and instinctual need to protect from him. Surely, he had some guidance, some wisdom from the great beyond that would set her on the right path instead of crashing blindly into every obstacle she encountered.

"Father? Father!"

Hawke scoured the landing when she saw no one standing there. She was tempted to knock on Leandra's closed door, but her mother was only just beginning to pick up the shattered pieces of her heart and move on with the rest of her life. Knowing Hawke was hallucinating their dead family members would only break her heart all over again.

Hawke felt the barb of a particularly vicious arrow wedge itself deep into her chest when she came up empty-handed in her search. Even a mage of Malcolm's calibre couldn't teleport himself away on the spot...if he'd been alive. She had to accept he wasn't there, and never had been. She was foolish for thinking his spirit would appear and soothe her fears with his boundless love.

She startled and nearly fell over the balustrade when she felt something brush against her leg, but it was only Snowflake. Weren't animals supposed to be sensitive to the paranormal? Snowflake's lack of reaction was only further proof these ghosts of hers were only in her head. He nudged her hand with a cold nose and stared up at her with his big, mismatched brown and blue eyes, whining pitifully and dancing in place.

"Go on then," Hawke sighed, shooing him down the stairs so he could find someone to feed him and let him outside to do his business. Hawke shuffled back into her room and made plans to wallow in misery for the rest of the foreseeable future. She was alone and had no one to blame but herself. She closed the door and turned to come face-to-chest with Carver.

"Andraste's ass biscuits! Wear a bell or something!" Hawke shouted, clutching at her chest over her racing heart.

Carver was wearing the soldier regalia from King Cailan's army with a broadsword (or longsword, she could never remember) strapped to his back. As she watched, the plating melted into the blue and silver of the Grey Wardens. The griffin insignia was there for only a moment before it transformed again and settled into the more familiar templar uniform.

The sight of her brother adorned with the flaming sword of the Templar Order emblazoned across his chest made her queasy in a way that had nothing to do with the stomach cramps and loose bowels she'd been hit with on day three (or was it seven?) of her detox. Hawke skirted around him cautiously and edged away from the door lest someone overhear her side of the conversation and come to investigate.

"What's with the getup? If you've come to berate me about Bethany again, you can spare me the lecture. I'm in no mood to deal with your shit, Carver. Especially when you're dressed like that."

"Templars aren't all bad." Carver frowned down at his chestplate and skirt thoughtfully. "I was named after a templar."

"I...didn't know that." But she must have known, right? Carver was in her head, so he could only know the things she knew.

"Ser Maurevar Carver. He was the templar who allowed Father to leave Kirkwall. Despite what you think, you don't know everything, sister."

"As you seem so keen on reminding me, I'm unlikely to forget."

"Good. I wouldn't want you to forget me. Or what you did to me."

"How long are you going to hold your death over my head?" Hawke snapped. She was at her wit's end after the disappointment of hearing but being unable to see their father. She would take Malcolm haunting her over cranky Carver any day.

"For as long as I'm like this." Carver's armor faded and he was once again in his torn, sleeveless jerkin and trousers. His blue eyes filmed over as blood dripped from a gash in his temple.

"That trick got old the first time, Carver. Do what you want. I'm taking a nap."

Hawke forced herself to lie down with her back to Carver even though her spine crawled at the thought of him watching her. She couldn't hear his metal boots clomping around the room so she was unable to tell if or when he left. She held her breath for as long as she could before gathering the nerve to glance over her shoulder.

No one was there.

Hawke exhaled in relief but didn't relax. Nightmares plagued her whether she was awake or asleep, but she was so tired the silence lulled her into an uneasy doze. She didn't hear the door open but, unlike Varric, she couldn't stand squeaky hinges and kept hers well-oiled. She went still but didn't startle when she felt the bed dip behind her. She was familiar enough with a certain roguish dwarf sneaking into her room to check in on her when he thought her asleep that she'd mostly given up on chasing him off.

The hand stroking her hair was soothing, but the Fereldan lullaby sung in a gentle, lilting voice that accompanied the light petting came as an icy cold shock. Hawke was too afraid to open her eyes or move, but her lack of a response didn't prevent the hand's owner from speaking and confirming her horrified suspicions.

"I know you're awake, Marian. Your breathing gets quiet and you bunch up right here." Millie's voice was like a clear stream, catching sparkles of sunlight and bubbling with suppressed laughter as she poked a finger between Hawke's tense shoulder blades. "Up you get, lazy bones. You'll miss breakfast and roll call."

"Five minutes longer," Hawke whispered. The words spilled automatically from her lips in a long-forgotten ritual. Tears shivered on her lashes, unwilling to fall even for her dead lover's sake.

"Five minutes for Carver to eat all the bacon, you mean."

Millie did laugh then, soft and sweet and exactly like Hawke remembered. Maker help her if these visions were actually demons come to torment her. Even though she wasn't a mage, that didn't make her immune to temptation when she was this weak and vulnerable. She flinched when the bed shifted. An arm settled around her waist as warm lips brushed her shoulder.

"You're dead. Carver's dead," Hawke rasped despite how warm and alive Millie felt. Her soft breaths raised the hairs on the back of her neck. "I let you both die."

"Marian... Look at me."

Hawke was pretty sure that was the worst idea ever.

She started trembling anew and refused to open her eyes when Millie's nimble fingers, callused from plucking bowstrings, turned her head toward her. Hawke still didn't open her eyes when lips touched her own and a warm tongue gently coaxed her mouth open, uncaring of Hawke's morning breath. Millie tasted like the bitter dregs of tea and the sweet stalks of hay she chewed to keep herself awake on watch. Her hair smelled like cloves and horses. Soft strands brushed against Hawke's face and stuck to her cheeks when the tears began to fall, two years too late.

Hawke reached up with trembling fingers and hesitantly touched Millie's cheek. She let out a sob when she found the skin there intact, unblemished save for the dusting of freckles Hawke knew would be there if she opened her eyes. She felt Millie's smile against her lips as she peeled back the covers and settled her body on top of Hawke's.

Millie had the build of a scout, small and slender all over, and was already naked. Hawke could have overpowered her easily, but she let Millie pin her down and spread her legs to accommodate the soft swell of her hips when her robe fell open. She'd been unable to resist her from the moment the adorable redhead in ill-fitting armor had flashed a gap-toothed smile and welcomed Hawke warmly into their unit despite Carver standing there glowering only a few paces away.

Millie's kisses were unhurried despite her earlier prodding. The damp curls dusting the mound of her sex provided delicious friction as she rocked against her. Hawke's hands shakily roved over her body, mapping smooth skin interspersed with the occasional harsh break from old injuries. Hawke traced the scar on her forearm Millie had gotten when trying to help a panicked calf out of a barbed wire fence, thumbed the dimple on her left breast beneath her pert nipple from an arrowhead, and dragged her nails – all grown back – over the long, thin scar on her hip from falling out of a tree due to her own clumsiness.

Millie's touches were equally reverent as she explored Hawke's body in return. Hawke gasped when Millie's exploration eventually led her to investigate the slick cave between Hawke's legs, delving clever fingers deep inside. Hawke thrust into her hand and felt the hot smear of Millie's sex grinding against her thigh.

"I love you, Mari. I love you so much." Millie pressed tender kisses to her face after each word, catching Hawke's tears and feeding them back to her until the sweetness of her lips overwhelmed the salty bite of sorrow and regret.

Millie rode Hawke like she'd been born to a saddle until Hawke was slick up to her hip with Millie's juices. Hawke flexed her thigh and Millie's cry of pleasure joined her own when they both came, mouths crashing together as they tried to avoid alerting anyone else to their activities. Despite their best efforts, Carver would always be as red as a beet and furiously sharpening his sword by the time they got dressed and dragged themselves out of Hawke's tent.

Hawke sunk back into the pillows with a sigh when Millie's fingers slid out of her and she nibbled one more kiss to Hawke's swollen lips. She expected the apparition – a desire demon, certainly – to leave after getting what it wanted from her, but Millie only shifted and resettled against her side. She traced swirls of moisture over Hawke's belly and breasts with a finger and tapped at her lips in silent offering.

Hawke opened her mouth, wrapping her tongue around Millie's index finger and drawing the slender digit into her mouth. The unique, potent flavor of their love ignited an unexpected stab hunger in Hawke. She didn't realize she'd clamped her teeth around Millie's finger until she hissed and tried to tug her hand away. Hawke meant to let go, but she found herself unable to unlock her jaw. Instead, her teeth tightened on Millie's knuckle, bearing down harder and harder until Millie's hiss turned into a cry of pain as she pried at Hawke's lips, bared in a snarl.

The wet crunch of cartilage rang in Hawke's ear along with Millie's screams as the thick, coppery taste of blood filled her mouth. Bone and nail scraped the sensitive lining of her throat when Hawke swallowed. Intense, gnawing hunger unlike anything she had ever felt gripped her and refused to let go, growing stronger with every passing second. Her craving for alcohol was barely an itch in comparison.

Hawke was shocked to find Millie lying in her bed when she opened her eyes. She was pale and looked younger than Hawke remembered as she clutched the bloody stump of her hand to her chest and wept. Her copper hair fanned around her head like a halo, or like spilled blood.

Hawke caught her wrist and felt the delicate bones grind when Millie tried to pull away from her. Hawke tightened her hold and wrenched her arm so hard there was a wet pop and ripping sound as the limb tore free from her torso. Millie's cries were excruciating, but Hawke heard nothing except for the primal roar of hunger. Her victim was unable to fight back when Hawke pinned her to the bed and bit at the flesh of her remaining forearm when she tried to push her off. There wasn't much meat on the limb, so Hawke pushed her arm aside and sunk her teeth into the places Millie was softest. She was unable to chew fast enough to sate the hunger and swallowed chunks of her lover whole, tendons and gristle catching in the spaces between her teeth.

Blood drenched the bed and formed channels along the grooves in the floor, but Millie continued to struggle weakly when Hawke dug her nails into the steaming cavity of her guts and tore out ropes of sausage-like intestines with relish. Millie's face was bloodless and white, washed clean by the tears pouring out of her wide, moss-green eyes. She stared at Hawke with agonized incomprehension, beseeching her to stop even though there was no amount of surgery or spellwork that could possibly save her if and when Hawke finally came to her senses.

Hawke dug her thumb into the socket of one of those beloved eyes, ripping it free of the optic nerve and shoving the orb hungrily into her mouth. The slippery casing burst and filled her mouth with flavorless retinal fluid, washing away the tang of blood until Hawke bit into her throat to mute her whimpering cries. Air whistled through the newly-formed hole as she struggled in vain to breathe, somehow managing to cling to life. The bone-white talons of her fingers clawed weakly at Hawke's face, but Hawke ignored them as she sat astride the battered wreckage of her torso, still chewing. She regarded her prey without emotion save for satisfaction, hunger temporarily appeased.

Millie's hand dropped to the mattress and crept like a spindly spider toward the nightstand. Hawke followed the movement and saw the gleam of knife sitting there, wickedly sharp and a regulation three inches long. Millie's single eye locked on hers in a silent plea to end her suffering.

Hawke picked up the knife and regarded it briefly before driving the point through Millie's chest and piercing her heart.

Hawke released the hilt and buckled with a cry of anguish when the spell holding her mind and body in its thrall broke, flooding her with horror so overwhelming she nearly yanked out the knife and turned it upon herself. She curled over and pawed at Millie's ravaged throat, feeling each pulse of her lifeblood as it continued to pour out of her. Hawke keened, choking on bile and blood as she turned her head and retched. She barely heard Millie's last breaths gurgle in her ear before her body slumped, falling still and silent.

The screams of a thousand darkspawn joined her own.

Something grabbed her and pinned her to the bed as leather restraints cut into her wrists and ankles. Hawke felt the wet heat of Millie's organs slipping along her back as she fought the crushing weight bearing down on top of her. The sound of a darkspawn's dark, malicious laughter filled the room, stopping Hawke's heart cold as she looked up into the rotted, misshapen face that haunted her worst nightmares, now become reality.

The rancid taste of decay and burning metal filled her mouth as the hurlock pried her lips apart and shoved its fingers down the back of her throat. Before she could spit them out, it removed its fingers, dislocated its jaw, and slotted its lipless mouth over the lower half of her face. Hawke bit at its foul-tasting tongue when it wormed into her mouth, unable to scream, breathe, or do anything except swallow when it regurgitated acid bile down her throat.

Rage, hatred, and revulsion churned in her stomach as she felt her insides begin to liquefy, bubbling until her skin blistered and oozed with pus that ate away at her flesh. Hawke did everything in her power to resist when the hurlock wrenched her legs apart so hard it snapped her ankle restraints, but it was too strong and nearly broke her legs as well. It used nothing but blood as lubricant when it forced its way inside her, tearing and ripping and filling her with its loathsome seed as it grunted its completion.

Hawke couldn't even scream when it barely paused before thrusting anew, slamming hard enough to shatter her pelvis. She could only lay there as it used her and turned her into its own breeding ground. Millie's body dissolved as it fused with her own. Extra limbs dangled from her back and her skin sloughed away in moist, grey chunks as Hawke grew too large for her current form. Her mind was fading, disappearing into the sweet strains of the Calling. The chorus of screams connecting her to each and every darkspawn transformed into a sweet, irresistible song that permeated throughout her very being.

Marian Hawke faded away as the hurlock grunted and pumped away on top of her, clinging to the mountainous swell of her rapidly inflating stomach. She was so large now the size disproportion was almost comical. Her breasts, all eight of them, ached and leaked with pus. Welts on her legs burst and formed thin, worm-like appendages that thickened and became prehensile as they grew. Her restraints and the hurlock vanished when she grew too bulky to move. She was alone in the dark with earth and impenetrable stone pressing in around her, entombing her as she swelled too big for her surroundings.

No. Not alone.

She smiled as she felt the first stirrings in her belly. She was pinned by the weight of her children, big as boulders, growing inside her by the dozens. By the hundreds. And all of them were  _hungry._..

* * *

Hawke found the bottle of wine Fenris had given her for her birthday. It'd been stashed away, forgotten, in the bottom of her trunk. She had no way of opening the bottle without a corkscrew or a sharp knife, but she was tempted to smash the neck of the bottle and risk ingesting glass in exchange for blessed oblivion.

Sandal was the one who discovered her curled up in the corner of her room, picking her fingernails bloody on the cork. She wept when he gently took the bottle out of her hands and replaced it with a flat, smooth stone. It wasn't enchanted, but Hawke squeezed the stone like a talisman. She used it to ground herself and ease the tremors in her hands when Bethany visited, dead-eyed with a sunburst branded into her forehead.

* * *

Hawke wasn't certain which of her visitors were real and which weren't, but the next several days passed in a blur. Sandal hadn't tattled about Hawke's setback, but there wasn't a drop of alcohol to be found in the estate even when she slipped her guards and snuck into the cellar. The slavers' bodies, along with the hundreds of wine bottles and casks, had been disposed of, leaving no one to loot for flasks or wineskins.

Anders found her in Darktown in nothing but her housecoat, barefoot and trying to barter her grounding stone with an old vagrant for his hooch. He paralyzed her with a spell, carried her into his clinic, healed her feet, and placed her under observation until her lunatic threats and sobbing subsided. He didn't dare leave her alone with his potions cabinet or lyrium supply, knowing she would drink anything that promised relief or oblivion.

When pleading and threats didn't work, Hawke did everything in her power to seduce him. She played on his feelings for her, touching and throwing herself at him every chance she got until he accidentally knocked her against a table when an explosion of pure kinetic energy burst out of him, eyes glowing Justice blue. Anders hastily grabbed all of his potions and disappeared, but Aveline showed up soon after to drag her back home.

Hawke had more or less kept herself a prisoner in her own room, but after her last stunt she was only allowed out with supervision. She'd wanted to keep her condition a secret until the worst had blown over, but the mabari was out of the bag.

Everyone who mattered had gathered to form a search party after she'd gone missing. A suspiciously composed Varric headed the pack, but Hawke knew there would be eyes on her anywhere she went within the city. She had no doubt everyone from barkeeps to black market merchants now lived in fear of having bounties placed on their heads if they dared served her anything stronger than tea – Corff and Lusine included.

Snowflake became her literal shadow, as opposed to her figurative one, and couldn't be bribed to leave her side for any amount of cake or shoes. Merrill made her sunshine tea and wove so many tiny braids into her hair Hawke figured she would have to shave her head bald to get them all out. Aveline took her to the yard and beat her with a wooden practice sword until Hawke was sweating and shaking from honest exertion rather than delirium tremens.

Isabela avoided her altogether.

Hawke wasn't allowed anywhere near a tavern, Darktown, or Fenris' mansion. Fenris visited every now and then to go over their reading lessons after Hawke discovered the former slave was illiterate and offered to teach him. She used the excuse of needing a distraction to spare his pride. Except being able to focus on something that wasn't her own misery and failings was less of an excuse than she claimed. The pleasant hum of his voice served as her only tether to reality some days, and he was the only person who didn't treat her any differently.

Sebastian was the biggest surprise.

The Starkhaven prince-turned-Chantry brother-turned-avenging archer took her out to the seawall to soak up the sun for a few hours and spoke to Hawke about his family while they looked out over the calm waves of the Waking Sea.

"After we destroyed the monster that provoked Lady Harriman into orchestrating my parents' deaths, I had hoped prayer might cleanse me of the desire demon's touch. But I still hear her voice so clearly. I feel like I've bathed in filth that will never come off."

"I know exactly what you mean," Hawke shuddered, chilled despite the heat.

"You may think me devout, but I wasn't always. I was the youngest of three. My parents were...rather traditional. They wanted the heir and the spare, and I was left in the cold. I'm no stranger to the thralls of excess, be it sex, depravity, or drink. My parents couldn't control me, so they sent me to the Chantry hoping to tame my baser impulses and prevent my competing with my brothers. It was the best thing that could have happened."

"It appears to have worked. You seem very dedicated to the Chantry. Although I have to admit, wearing Andraste's face over your crotch seems a bit excessive."

Sebastian didn't acknowledge the running joke about his white armor or unusual belt buckle. "I was a wild boy, a shame to my family. The Chantry made me a man. It's odd. When I wanted to rule, I would have been terrible at it. Now that I might be decent, I don't know if it's the right thing to do. I used to be bitterly jealous of my brother. I wanted to be prince. Now everything he had is mine. And he lies in ashes."

"My brother died two years ago, and he won't let me hear the end of it."

"I-what?"

Hawke waved a hand next to her head. "Apparently, insanity and seeing dead people are side effects of going cold turkey. Who knew? I don't blame you for not wanting the responsibility of ruling. But, for what it's worth, I think you'd be good at it."

"You didn't feel what that demon stirred in me. It cannot be right to lead any army to Starkhaven with such doubt in my heart. I owe you more than I can say, Hawke. I will offer my services to you any way I can before I move on."

Hawke considered the many, many ways she could turn his statement into a filthy suggestion as she assessed his ocean-blue eyes, auburn hair, strong jaw, and the gorgeous accent that came out of his full lips. Then her gaze flicked down to Andraste's face hovering over his crotch, and she made an irreverent gesture toward the belt buckle.

"You wouldn't happen to be hiding a flask behind there, would you?" she asked hopefully.

Sebastian sighed and patted her on the shoulder before he looked back out over the water. "I'll pray for you, Hawke. I suggest you try and do the same." 

Hawke considered his suggestion...for about ten seconds. The Maker would see right through her and smite her on principle for even trying. She'd never been the most devout individual and rarely walked into a Chantry without tracking blood and soot all over the pristine floors. She had no desire to be smited. Smoten? Besides, sitting for hours in a stuffy confessional wasn't her idea of a good time, especially if Sebastian wasn't planning on joining her in there.

When the skin on their noses threatened to blister and peel from the shimmering reflection of the sun off the water's surface, he escorted her home and deposited her into Varric's capable hands. Varric pretended he hadn't been waiting anxiously for her and suggested an "impromptu" picnic in her room with a wicker basket of cold meat, bread, cheese, and fruit already prepared.

They caught Snowflake trying to sneak out of her room with the basket clamped between his jaws. It took their combined efforts to wrestle the contraband from him and salvage what was left. After serving his time in the Corner of Shame (which Hawke was no stranger to herself), he managed to integrate himself into their card game after dinner and joined them on the rug in front of Hawke's fireplace. It was a cozy scene that would have been even better with a bottle of wine, but Hawke could almost shuffle the cards without tremors making her scatter them everywhere, and she hadn't hallucinated – as far as she knew – in at least two days.

Hawke pretended not to notice Varric feeding Snowflake scraps from his plate, and Varric pretended not to notice how terrible Hawke was at Diamondback despite all the practice she'd gotten with Denier. Rather than making bets using shots or coin, they played for kisses. Or, at least they did until Snowflake won two rounds in a row and slobbered all over them.

"You know, you play Diamondback better than my cousin." Varric wiped the drool off his cheek and addressed Snowflake, who had his own pile of cards to chew on scattered in front of him on the floor. "You wag your tail whenever you have a good hand, though. Might want to watch that."

Snowflake barked and went back to chewing on his card, the stub of his tail wagging happily.

"He doesn't take well to having his flaws pointed out," Hawke pointed out. "Is it brilliant or horrible that you play Diamondback with my dog?"

"All I'm saying is he'd be up more than two wins if he watched his tells. My Uncle Emmet has a whole pack of rat terriers who play every week. They're a cutthroat bunch. You've got a long way to go to be their quality."

Snowflake dropped his drool-covered card and growled.

"Now don't take it bad—you're still better than Anders."

Snowflake wagged his tail, happy again.

"Coming to the Hanged Man later?"

Snowflake barked and resumed his chewing.

"I'm glad you and Anders still hang out. I can't remember what I said or did before Aveline dragged me out of his clinic by my ear, but the fact he hasn't been by since probably means it was pretty bad. I wouldn't want to ruin things between you."

Hawke set down her cards and folded in favor of fishing a handful of blueberries out of the picnic basket. She used the excuse of practicing her hand-eye coordination when she pelted Varric's face with the berries and attempted to land them in his mouth every time he opened it to speak, which was often.

"That's the problem with you two." Varric held up a hand so he could get a word in edgewise, which was counterproductive to Hawke's masterful plan to avoid talking about her feelings. "You build up all these worst-case scenarios in your head instead of just hashing them out and getting on with things."

"It's not my imagination if those worst-case scenarios actually come to pass nine times out of ten, Varric."

"You know, there is such a thing as self-fulfilling prophecies, Hawke."

"He has a point," Carver said.

"Fucking—Dammit!" Hawke shouted.

Carver was standing behind Varric in his Grey Warden regalia as he peered down at his cards. Varric ducked when she threw the remaining blueberries at her jackass ghost of a brother. Snowflake went bounding after the fruit as it sailed right through Carver. Carver didn't even notice, of course.

"He was bluffing. You would have won that hand," Carver said.

"Can't you leave me alone?"

"No need to throw things! I can...go?" Varric set down his cards and trailed off without collecting his kiss for winning when he realized Hawke was glaring several feet above his head. He twisted around to look and only saw Snowflake's rump sticking out from beneath the bed as he tried to reach a blueberry that had rolled under there. "Uh... Who're you talking to, babe?"

" _Carver_ ," Hawke growled.

"Carver...your brother? As in the one who died?"

"Is that how you introduce me? Your dead brother? Better than Bethany's twin or Marian's shadow, I suppose."

"Give us a second, Varric," Hawke said impatiently but continued despite their audience. "I keep every death with me, Carver.  _Especially_  yours. If you wanted that weight on your shoulders, then you shouldn't have charged at an ogre single-handedly."

"Didn't stop you in the Deep Roads."

"I didn't have a choice." Hawke pressed a hand to her chest, remembering the pain of having her torso shattered beneath an ogre's fist and slowly suffocating on her own blood. "Anyway, we wouldn't even be having this conversation if Anders hadn't been there."

"You love him," Carver said, matter-of-fact. "Does Varric know?"

Hawke felt like an ogre had punched her all over again. "I...fuck you, Carver."

"Didn't think so. You always did play your hand close to your chest, sister."

Hawke nearly lost her battle against the urge to throw something breakable at his head. Instead, she curled her hand into a fist and dropped her gaze to Varric's. He was watching her with a calm expression that could be hiding an entire array of emotions. He reached for her hand and squeezed it gently when Hawke broke first and glared at the floor.

"He and I have an understanding. What I feel for Anders doesn't even compare," she said tightly.

"You assume he can read your mind, but have you actually told Varric you love him, either? What if you die without telling him? What if  _he_  does?"

"When did you start giving a damn about my relationships? You were always hoping Millie would see the error of her ways. Break it off with me and go running into your big, burly arms. It's why you got that stupid dog tattoo in the first place, isn't it?" Hawke tore her hand free and stood up so she could yell at Carver properly.

"Like yours is any better. At least I didn't name a war dog after her stuffed animal."

As if he could sense he was being talked about, Snowflake took advantage of their distraction to grab the basket of leftovers and hightail it out the door. No one noticed.

Carver seemed to realize the callousness of his comeback the same time she did. Hawke bit her lip to stop the tide of scathing rebuttals and wrapped her arms around herself, shrinking away. Millie's little brother had named Snowflake the stuffed dog before he'd been taken away by templars, never to be seen or heard from again. It was the only thing Millie had to remember him by, and Carver damn well knew it. He flushed despite his lack of a heartbeat and frowned, scuffing the ground with his boot like he did as a petulant kid.

"I don't want you to have the same regrets I did. Is that so unbelievable?" he grumbled. It was the closest he'd ever come to an apology even when he'd been alive.

"Yes!"

"Well, you're wrong. I shouldn't have said what I did. I can't promise I would have done any better in your place."

Hawke unwound slightly, temporarily placated. "Does it hurt? Dying?"

"I...don't remember. All I knew for a long time was darkness and cold. It was so, so cold. And then I was here. I don't have a place in this life you and Mother are trying to bring back. "

"For what it's worth, I do miss you. So do Mother and Bethany. I didn't want you to die, Carver. It should have been me."

Hawke felt tears pricking her eyes, and she let them. She had never truly mourned Carver...or Millie. She might never get her chance to make amends with her former lover, but she had no doubt Millie would have wanted her to move on and be happy. At least she had a second chance to make amends with Carver - imagined or not - in their own emotionally constipated way.

"It can't be you, Marian. You have to live. For Mother. For..." Carver cut himself off and cocked his head like he was hearing something in the distance.

Hawke felt an anxious swooping in her gut when a beam of sunlight burst through the window in the most cliché, inopportune moment possible and illuminated the spot where he was standing. "Oh, no you don't. You'd better not pass into the afterlife yet, Carver! I'm not done yelling at you!"

Varric caught her when Hawke tripped over him in her rush to grab for Carver, but he was already beginning to fade. His blue eyes were soft and matched the smile on his face - the first Hawke had seen from him in... Maker. Far too long.

"Forgive yourself, sister. I already have."

"Carver!"

"Goodbye..." Carver's voice was barely a whisper.

"I'm not naming my kids after you, asshole! Carver's a stupid name!" Hawke called out in a futile parting shot. By the time Hawke managed to disentangle herself from Varric and swipe at the air where Carver had been standing, he was already gone. Hawke knew it might be the last time she ever saw him again, but the thought didn't hurt as much as it used to. "Dumbass, meddlesome little brothers."

"Hey, I resemble that remark." Varric reached out and gently caught her fingers with his own. "Carver gone?"

"Yeah... Sorry. You probably deserve an explanation." Hawke couldn't say how much she was looking forward to  _that_  conversation. She raked a hand through her hair and blew out her cheeks in frustration.

"Not really." Varric shrugged at her incredulous look. "Ma used to see shit all the time when we didn't have the coin to support her drinking habit. Got so bad one time Bartrand pawned our father's signet ring for a bottle of second-grade malt whiskey and used the rest to fund the expedition so he could get out of being Mother's caretaker. She was the strongest woman I knew, but the drink still won out in the end."

"Then I'm fucked." Hawke dropped into his lap when he gave her hand a light tug and buried her face against his neck while he rubbed the tension out of her neck and shoulders.

"You can do this. I'm so proud of you, sweetheart. I know this shit ain't easy, but I'm here for you no matter what."

"You wouldn't say that if you saw me as a broodmother. You missed it, Varric. I had eight tits and tentacles and everything. Imagine the sex we could have been having then."

Varric didn't bother to hide his shudder. His hand tightened briefly on the back of Hawke's neck before he resumed a more thorough massage, tipping her back onto the rug with a mischievous gleam in his eye. "You know, that Qunari dildo doesn't seem so bad now that I think about it-"

"I'll get the lube."

Hawke threaded her fingers through his hair and pulled him down for a swift kiss before he could change his mind. She squirmed out from beneath him and slammed the door to her room closed before she raced over to her trunk of odds and ends. As she tossed the necessary items into a pile on the floor, she was relieved Carver had decided to move on after all when she pulled out the enormous grey dick and made a few parrying motions like it was a longsword. Or broadsword. She could never keep the two straight, but she was pretty sure the toy counted as both.

Carver would probably know, but there were some things judgmental little brothers should never have to see - dead  _or_  alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone would be interested in being a beta for this story, I would love you forever! Editing takes so much time that could be dedicated to writing more chapters, and as this thing gets bigger I'm feeling more and more overwhelmed. If you enjoy the story, can be critical (I can take it), and editing's your thing, please let me know! Plus, you'll get to see the chapters in advance and offer story input! :)
> 
> If you haven't already, feel free to follow me on [Tumblr ](https://www.tumblr.com/blog/brie2230)or [Facebook](https://www.facebook.com/Brie2230)!
> 
> Thank you, loves!


	18. Chapter 18

"I am never moving again," Varric groaned into one of the few pillows that had survived Hawke's unfortunately literal purge when they woke up the next morning.

They'd both slept through the night for the first time in ages after thoroughly exhausting each other with Hawke's toy collection. She was hesitant to think her detox was even remotely close to being complete after so many relapses, but she felt lighter than she had after Carver made his unnecessarily dramatic exit into the afterlife.

"I'll get breakfast," Hawke said before Varric could insist on doing so himself. He coddled her incessantly but calling him out on it only resulted in him being sneakier about his fussing. "Any requests?"

"No sausage." Varric sounded so fervent that Hawke laughed.

"One plate of extra thick, extra  _long_  sausages coming right up." She twitched the sheets over Varric's bare ass and got dressed in a housecoat and slippers.

"You're not funny, Hawke!"

"I'm hilarious, Varric."

"Yeah, you think so."

Despite his grumblings, he didn't actually try and get up to intercede on their breakfast order. Hawke paused in the doorway and looked back at him fondly. He was sprawled out on his stomach in a patch of sunlight, appearing for all the world like a contented cat. Thinking of cats – or the kind of people who liked cats – made her heart ache. Hawke would definitely stick with being a dog person. Much less complicated. Dogs or their owners.

Downstairs, Orana was already in the kitchen stirring a big pot of porridge. Sandal was perched on a chair at the table, kicking his feet several inches above the floor as he tinkered with his latest project. Bodahn sat across from him puffing away on a pipe while they awaited breakfast. The burning leaf smelled sweet and cloying, filling the warm kitchen with a light haze that appeared dewy in the morning light.

"Messere!" Bodahn stashed the pipe guiltily when he saw her and yelped as he burned his fingers in the process.

"I haven't given up all my vices, Bodahn. Is that actual pipeweed or just tobacco? Actually, it doesn't matter. Gimme."

"I-I probably shouldn't—Oh, all right."

Hawke snatched the pipe out of his hands and took a long drag. She immediately started coughing plumes of bluish smoke when it stuck to the lining of her lungs. She took another hit – only tobacco, unfortunately – to clear her throat before handing the pipe back to Bodahn.

"Enchantment?" Sandal asked when Hawke finally stopped coughing. He pushed something flat and round across the table toward her.

"Boom?" Hawke asked, pocketing the stone. She was amassing quite a collection, but at the rate she used them, she could never have enough.

"Boom," Sandal confirmed. "Can I have some salamanders, please?"

"I was thinking eggs for breakfast, but sure. Why not?"

"Don't do it. That's where the boom comes from, I think," Bodahn warned.

"She smells like cinnamon buns." Sandal pointed at Orana in his usual abrupt manner.

"Are you hiding buns in your frock, Orana?" Hawke scolded. "I hope you were planning to share."

"I wouldn't, Mistress! I promise!"

Orana looked at her with wide, frightened eyes, ladle clutched in hand. Hawke winced. She kept forgetting how sensitive Orana was. She hadn't exactly been raised in a household that invited humor or sarcasm and took jokes even more literally than Merrill.

"Sorry. I know you wouldn't, Orana. I just came to grab something to take back upstairs, and then I'll get out of your hair so you can get back to your...salamanders."

"I'll prepare a tray for you, Mistress."

"You can call me Hawke, Orana."

"Certainly, Mistress."

Hawke sighed but stood aside as Orana bustled around the kitchen and gathered a spread of breakfast foods. She was tempted to grab a link of sausages when Orana's back was turned, but knowing her luck she would be ambushed by Snowflake on the way to her room and never make it up the stairs. Then Varric would starve to death and come back to haunt her and bitch at her incessantly. Hawke had enough hauntings to last her a lifetime.

Orana hadn't been hiding cinnamon buns in her frock, but she did have a pan of sweetbread warming in the oven that she removed and drizzled with honey. Hawke knew by the aroma the bread was stuffed full of nuts and dates. She had no doubt Orana could give that fancy, over-priced Orlesian shop owner a run for his money, but she was selfishly pleased to have Orana all to herself. Maybe she'd enlist Varric or Isabela to steal the recipe for those cinnamon  _bitchins_ , or whatever they were called, so she could have them whenever she wanted.

She refused Orana and Bodahn's offers to help. Her tremors weren't too severe today, and she could manage one tray on her own. She kept an eye out for wayward mabari waiting to pounce and made it up the stairs without incident.

"What's that smell?" Varric perked up and breathed deeply when Hawke nudged open the door to her room with the tray carefully balanced in her hands. She should probably ask if she could have her locks back before someone barged into her room unannounced and got an eyeful, but she wasn't off probation yet.

"Whoever smelt it, dealt it, Varric."

"What, are you five? Is that Orana's sweetbread? It smells amazing."

"Yep, and it's all for me."

Hawke climbed onto the bed next to Varric. However, instead of returning the favor of feeding him while he was too fucked out to move, she straddled his back and balanced the tray between his shoulder blades. She kept him pinned down as she tore off pieces of sweetbread and popped them into her mouth with loud, smacking noises and obnoxious moaning as she chewed with her mouth open.

"Oh, Maker! This is almost better than sex," Hawke groaned around her mouthful.

"Then you're not doing one of them right."

Varric twisted this way and that to try and unbalance her, but it wasn't Hawke first rodeo. She gripped his sides with her thighs and held the tray steady with one hand while she ate. "You should really try Orana's sweetbread, Varric. She could put that Orlesian asshole out of business."

"I would  _love_  to, Hawke. Can I get you a ladder so you can get off my back?"

"No need. I'm done."

Hawke swung off Varric and held the tray up when he rolled over and made a grab for it. There was a brief tug of war, but Hawke relinquished her end without upending the tray's remaining contents onto either Varric or her bed. He looked at the half-empty platter with dismay.

"You didn't even leave crumbs!"

"You're lucky I didn't bring you sausages. Now hush and eat unless you want me to steal the rest."

Varric grumbled between bites of plain, boring toast while Hawke flopped onto her back next to him and tucked her arms behind her head. She was well-versed in Varric-speak, however, and knew he was pleased that she had any appetite after the past two weeks of gastric misery. Varric and her mother were forever berating her for not eating enough. She'd be back to her post-Deep Roads weight before she knew it if she wasn't careful. It was too early for such heavy thoughts, so Hawke latched onto what she thought was a relatively safe topic while she watched him eat.

"When you tell people about the escape from Lothering, why do you make it sound like I had food all over my face?"

"You're larger than life, Hawke. I had to give you a few flaws just to make you approachable," Varric said around a mouthful of fried potatoes.

The irony seemed completely lost on him.

"Did you just call me fat?"

"Yes. That's pretty much how I tell it. 'Hawke rolled into the fray like a gigantic' pudding covered in gravy.' It's more dramatic that way."

"Does it have to be gravy? Couldn't it be chocolate instead?"

"Bah! Everyone's a critic."

"So you're saying you wouldn't want to cover me in chocolate and eat me up?"

"Back on that cannibalism kick, are you?"

Hawke knew Varric was only teasing, but she felt a low swooping in her gut that made her sit up swiftly and considering making a grab for the chamberpot. Varric set the tray aside and placed a hand against her back when she hunched over her lap, breathing in and out slowly through her nose until the sickness passed.

"Are you okay?" Varric asked, eyebrows pinched with worry.

"You're right. I shouldn't have eaten all that sweetbread."

"Are you sure that's it? I don't mean to pry, but I couldn't help overhearing half of your and Junior's little spat yesterday. Feel free to tell me to mind my own business, but I have to ask. Who's Millie?"

Hawke let out a shaky, disbelieving laugh. "There is no way you're not a mind reader, Varric."

"Nah. I just know you, Hawke. And I know when something's eating you. Sorry," he quickly apologized at her flinch. "Bad choice of words?"

"She... Millie and I..." Hawke stumbled over her words and then laughed at herself, the sound broken and humorless. She blinked her eyes rapidly and tilted her head back to stare up at the bed's canopy rather than at Varric's face. "We served in the 3rd company in King Cailan's army along with my brother and another older soldier, Garrund. Carver had a crush on Millie, too, but for some reason she chose me."

"I can guess how much Junior loved that."

Hawke dropped her chin and swallowed several times before she managed to croak out, "I would have married her. We'd planned to. After the war. I was going to live on her farm and milk cows or whatever. Can you imagine?"

"I take it things didn't go according to plan?"

"If you want to call Millie getting herself eaten by a genlock not going according to plan, then yes. I would say that."

"Shit. I'm so sorry, Hawke."

Varric exhaled a long breath as he let that information sink in. Hawke's life would have been so different if Millie had still been alive. If the darkspawn hadn't attacked. If they hadn't had to flee Lothering and come all the way to Kirkwall.

If...if...if...

Varric took her hand, chafing her frozen fingers between his own before bringing them to his lips. "You don't have to talk about it—"

"I saw her," Hawke continued, breaths ragged. "When the genlock was chewing on her. And the other day. I-In my bed. She wasn't dead, though. Not u-until I..."

"Shhh, sweetheart. It's okay," Varric interrupted and pulled her into his lap. She curled around him and sobbed wetly into his shoulder.

"I don't really want to eat you," Hawke blubbered, smearing snot and tears against Varric's shoulder. It was a testament to how much he loved her when he only kissed the side of her head and rubbed her back without grimacing away.

"Well, that's a relief." Varric's shoulder bobbed when he gave a huff of not-quite laughter. "I'm pretty sure you'd miss having me around if you did."

Despite Carver's earlier prodding, she couldn't make herself form the words to tell Varric she loved him. Sure, he probably knew how she felt and realized it long before she had, but knowing and hearing it was two completely different things. He might not be a mind reader, but he knew her better than anyone else. Every time she thought about it, saying those three little words to him, it was like she hit a wall and had to retreat behind a glib word or actually run away.

"How would you feel about getting out of the house today?" Varric carded his fingers through her hair and gently unsnarled a few of the braids leftover from Merrill's handiwork.

"Maker, yes. Did you have something in mind?"

"I think I promised someone a tattoo, but if you're not feeling up to it..."

"Get some pants on, dwarf. It's time we paid Merrill a visit."

Hawke scrambled out of bed and pulled her leathers on in record time. Varric moved stiffly and with far less enthusiasm. But with a little extra prodding, he finally managed to get dressed and strap Bianca onto his back.

"Am I allowed to have my daggers back yet, or am I still on probation? Somehow I don't think a butter knife will be quite as effective against bandits or thugs." Hawke waffled over putting on her empty dagger sheaths, but she definitely didn't want to make the trip to the Alienage unarmed.

"They're in the chest in the guest room I've been staying in. I didn't realize they were enchanted with fire runes. Burned right through my second favorite coat. Fortunately, I was able to liberate the one you stole from me."

"Borrowed indefinitely," Hawke corrected and plucked at her leggings. "Eugh. It's too hot for leather. We'll need to stop by Sol's to pick up the tattoo ink before we head to Merrill's."

"Lead the way."

Hawke grabbed her daggers from the guest room and felt the heat of the enchantments warming her back and sticking her leather armor and undershirt to her skin with sweat. She missed her ice and electricity daggers, but she was still sensitive to those particular schools of magic.

A wave of heat hit her in the face when they left the comparatively cool interior of the estate. She'd missed the Summerday festival, but she wasn't big on celebrating holidays anyway – especially ones hotter than the Maker's taint and even stickier.

They kept to the shade whenever possible, but there wasn't much to be found in the Hightown market that hadn't already been claimed by people with the same idea. Neither she nor Varric could pull off one of the lacy parasols highborn ladies, and a few men, were sporting. Hawke was severely tempted by the offers of chilled wine and hand fans being touted in their direction, but with Varric's hand in hers to lead her away from temptation they managed to reach Solivitus' shady stall without unduly detours.

"Hey, Sol."

"Messeres Hawke and Tethras! To what do I owe the pleasure? I received a new shipment of rashvine and nettle this week. Along with the varterral's heart you were able to retrieve for me, I was able to concoct a new elixir to cure genital warts. Any interest?"

"That's why I nearly got killed bringing you a varterral's heart? To cure  _genital warts_?" Hawke squawked.

"It's a very serious condition! There's been an outbreak among Hightown residents recently, and I can barely keep enough potion in stock. Are you certain you're not interested in a sample? Perhaps for one of your associates? At your usual discounted rate, of course."

Hawke and Varric exchanged equally alarmed glances before Hawke answered for them both. "We're fine, Sol. I just wanted to check if you were able to recreate that Dalish ink I brought you?"

"I'm afraid with such a small sample I wasn't able to create a perfect replica, but I believe I deduced a close approximation of the base ingredients." Solivitus rummaged through his shelves and returned with a bottle that he handed over in exchange for a handful of Hawke's silvers.

"The process is marvelously simple, really. You grind pine bark, corroded iron flakes, and cochineal eggs into a fine powder and soak the mixture in leek juice. Ideally, one of the Dalish clan, most likely their keeper, would add their own blood and enhance the mixture with a spell or ritual, but I'm afraid their process is a more closely-guarded secret than the ink itself."

Hawke inspected the bottle of russet-colored ink before tucking it safely away in her belt pouch. It lacked the shimmer of the Dalish ink she'd stolen, but Merrill might know what was missing. "What's a cochineal?"

"Cochineals are insects that are usually found in dry, desert climes. Their bodies can also be dried out and used for the dye, but I find their eggs bond the ink better and lend an overall pleasing hue to the finished product."

"There's bug guts in that ink?" Varric said, looking a little green.

"Their eggs, actually. They're exceedingly rare and expensive, but thanks to Messere Hawke my business has never been better. Although, if I could make one recommendation?"

"Seriously, Sol. Neither of us has genital warts. I've checked," Hawke said.

"No, it's not that." Solivitus laughed and waved his hand. "The next time you bring me a creature's heart, could you at least make sure to drain the blood first? I nearly had to relocate because of all the flies swarming my stall, especially in this heat."

"Everyone's a critic," Hawke muttered to Varric's amusement. "Thanks again, Sol."

"Come back again soon!"

"That man is a menace," Hawke said as soon as they were out of earshot and headed down into the lower parts of the city. "If his potions weren't actually as good as he claimed, I would track down another varterral just to feed him to it."

"Blondie will be glad there's someone else out there curing venereal diseases. Rivaini alone keeps him busy enough on that front. Aveline's also been complaining about her recruits spending their entire leave going back and forth between the Blooming Rose and the infirmary. Come to think of it, you  _were_  spending a lot of time at the Rose while you were busy avoiding me and Blondie."

"You know. When you said what's yours is mine, I didn't think that would extend to STDs," Hawke said wryly.

"Very funny. Maybe we should head back to Sol's and get that cure just in case..."

"Too late. You're not talking your way out of getting that tattoo, Varric. Besides, we're already here."

The Alienage was blessedly shady thanks to the giant tree smack dab in the center of the square, though only a few elves were out and about. They barely glanced at the odd pair, used to seeing Hawke and Company wander into their parts. Hawke didn't bother to knock before inviting herself inside Merrill's apartment. She found her sitting at her battered old table, head bowed, with a forlorn air about her.

"All right, Merrill?" she asked.

"Oh! Hawke! Varric! Come in. I...was just..." Merrill switched tracks mid-sentence and blurted out, "Am I crazy?"

"Yes, but in a good way."

Hawke shucked off her outermost layers and made herself at home. Even Varric hung his coat up on a nail protruding from the wall. His collar and the hair at the nape of his neck were soaked with sweat, but he maintained an enviable air of cool around him despite his endless complaints about the heat on the way there.

"I thought the arulin'holm would fix everything. The mirror would work, and everything would be right again... But I keep dreaming of Pol's face. Everyone that I care for thinks I'm a monster."

"If you're a monster, then I'm the Queen of Antiva, Daisy," Varric said as he joined them at the table.

"You would look lovely in a crown," Merrill said with a hint of a sob in her voice.

"Don't forget the dress and corset. I know for a fact he looks fetching in silk. But he's right. You're no more a monster than either of us is. Marethari was wrong for trying to turn your clan again you."

"I could never have faced the Keeper myself. I never imagined a human would help me restore Dalish history. No one ever understood. Not the Keeper, not my clan. Just you, Hawke."

Merrill's voice went soft and awed as she gazed up at Hawke with her huge, shining green eyes. Hawke could hear Varric's voice clear as day in her head, even though he was sitting next to her biting his lip and trying not to laugh.

_Uh oh. Someone's got a crush._

"I'm sensitive, beautiful, and supportive," Hawke said airily. "What else could anyone possibly want?"

"Nothing. Oh. Not that I'm saying that I want you."

Merrill blushed bright enough to match Hawke's kaddis and glanced away with a shy smile. Her eyes darted to the side to gauge Hawke's reaction. Whatever was on her face - probably panic - was enough for Merrill's smile to go blurry and fade around the edges. "I'll just stop talking now."

"It's all right, Daisy. There aren't many who can resist Hawke's charms." Varric winked and gave her a consolatory smile.

"Including you?" Hawke prodded.

" _Especially_ me. Like you even have to ask."

"You're the first real friend I've ever had.  _Ma serannas, lethallan_ ," Merrill said before a thought seemed to occur to her. "Oh. I'm being a terrible host again. Would you like water? Tea? I think I might have some biscuits...oh wait. I gave those to the mouse family in my cupboard. They just had babies! More tiny mice mouths to feed."

She seemed thrilled by her impending rodent infestation. Hawke made a mental note to come by more often if Merrill was so lonely that she was keeping rats as company.

"No thank you, Merrill. Varric and I came by to see if you'd be willing to do some tattoo work for us. I already got the ink from Solivitus on the way here."

Merrill blinked in surprise. "Both of you? I would love to! Are you getting matching tattoos? That's  _so_  romantic," she sighed wistfully.

"I'm still trying to talk Varric into getting a tramp stamp."

"Not on your life, Hawke. Why don't you go first and hopefully I'll have mine decided by the time you're done," he said.

"You giant baby. Don't tell me you're afraid of needles."

"Fine. I won't tell you."

"Let's do this, Merrill. Before Varric gets cold feet and runs away."

"Why would his feet be cold? It's been so hot lately...oh. Is this one of your human sayings?"

"Why don't you get your kit and I'll clear off the table?" Hawke suggested rather than try to explain human idioms.

"Any idea what you're getting?" Varric asked as they shoved the books and random assortment of odds and ends to one side of the table. While Merrill retrieved her supplies, they lit the few oil lanterns she had laying about.

"I have no idea. Maybe I'll get a tally of my current kill count."

"You'd end up covered in stripes from head to toe. Like one of those black and white horses they're rumored to have in Seheron."

"Then I'll leave it up to Merrill again. It can't be any worse than the first time."

"I'll remember you said that. Don't come crying to me if you end up with a cat blob on your shoulder like Blondie."

"Hmm..."

"No, Hawke." Varric started to scold her, but stopped and cocked his head like he was listening for something. "Is it just me or has Merrill been gone awhile? Hey, Daisy!"

"C-Coming! Are you - _hic_!- ready? Oops." Merrill bumped into the doorway and dropped her rolled leather kit. Instead of picking it up, she slumped against the wall and giggled.

"Uh. All right there?" Varric asked, eyebrows raised high.

"Yes - _hic_!- Yes. I...ummm."

"Are you  _drunk_ , Merrill?" Hawke asked incredulously.

"Um? Yes?" Merrill held onto the wall and blinked her eyes twice as much as she normally did. "A-Aveline said if Hawke came over, I should hide all the alcohol. F-For - _hic_!- her own good.  _Hic_!"

"I don't think she meant for you to drink it all, Daisy. Come on. Let's get you seated before you fall over."

"Since when do you have alcohol? And why had you never offered me any before?" Hawke willfully ignored the look Varric shot her. "Dammit. I was really looking forward to getting that tattoo, too."

"I can do it!" Merrill insisted, clinging to the table top like the room was swaying. For her, it probably was. Hawke could smell the strong notes of wine wafting off her from where she was standing and felt a painful pang of longing in her gut.

"I can give you a million reasons why that's a bad idea, Daisy, but I don't think I even need one," Varric said.

Hawke felt a burst of anger and irritation as she raked a hand through her hair. Damn Merrill for messing up their plans. And damn Aveline for meddling and knowing Hawke too fucking well. Even now, she was tempted to rummage through Merrill's rubbish for the last drops of wine that might be clinging to the inside of the bottle. What she needed was a distraction, and what better distraction than pain?

"Uh. What are you doing, Hawke?" Varric asked when Hawke started removing her cotton undershirt that was nearly transparent with sweat.

"You heard Merrill. She said she can do it. Besides, by the time she's done with mine, she'll be sober enough to do yours."

Hawke had managed to go two weeks without drinking, but abstaining only meant it was constantly on her mind unless she had something else to hold her attention. Hawke clenched her jaw and refused to be budged as she slammed her left arm down on the table and pulled out the bottle of ink with the other. Merrill tried very hard to appear sober but had to make two grabs for the bottle before she could pry off the stopper, sloshing some of the ink as she did.

"I'll need your blood, Hawke," Merrill said woozily.

"Here. I'll do it. You're likely to nick a vein right now," Varric sighed and took Merrill's knife from her. He sterilized the blade and made a tiny incision on both their wrists at Merrill's instruction.

Hawke couldn't remember if Merrill had said any magic words over the ink the first time since she'd been pretty out of it at the time, but she didn't chant or do anything mystical this time. At least her hands appeared steady enough as she took out her tiny hammer and needlelike chisel.

"What would you like this one to say, Hawke?"

"Do whatever, Merrill. I don't care."

Hawke stared into the dancing flames of the lantern sitting between them until her eyes burned and gritted her teeth when Merrill began tapping her design into her upper arm. It was less painful than her ribs had been, and the tattoo would cover much less space, but it was still an agonizing and time-intensive process. Merrill's needle slipped every time she hiccupped, drawing more of Hawke's blood and making the lines of the tattoo look like a toddler's messy finger-painting project instead of a painstakingly tattooed squiggle.

Varric watched and said little, though his fingers tapping on the tabletop in time to Merrill's hammering belied his nerves. Hawke had her left arm stretched out so Merrill could work and pillowed her head on her other arm against the table. She focused on Merrill's hammering and Varric's tapping until the heartbeat pounding in her ears drowned out all other sounds. She drifted into a semi-euphoric state as the pain rushed through her body and released a flood of endorphins in its wake.

Her arm felt like it'd been branded with a white-hot poker by the time Merrill was finished, and it looked even worse. The wound was cleaned up and hidden beneath a length of gauze that Varric wrapped around her upper arm before she could get a good look at the tattoo. He helped her put her undershirt back on, but Hawke forwent her leathers. Merrill's apartment felt warm and suffocating, and Hawke was desperate for a change of scenery.

"I need some air. I'll be back."

She wobbled and had to use the table as support when she stood but brushed away Varric's helping hands. She didn't bother to stick around and make sure Varric upheld his end of the bargain. Merrill wasn't hiccupping quite so much, and her eyes had finally lost their glossy sheen.

The stagnant air in the Alienage hit her in the face like a moist slap with a week-old fish. Hawke ignored the curious or wary looks in her direction as she stumbled toward the elves' Vhenadahl and slumped at the base of the giant tree in the shade. The painted bark was rough against her cheek and smelled faintly of piss, but she'd napped in worse places.

The Alienage wasn't the safest place for a  _shem_  to let down their guard, but, honestly, no place in Kirkwall was. At least Hawke was known around these parts as Merrill's friend and had personally helped more than a few elves when no one else would. There was a fifty-fifty chance she would still have her coin purse and daggers by the time she woke up, but those were better odds than she usually took.

She didn't know how long she'd slept, but the sunlight filtering down through the branches had moved from the top of her head to her left cheek when she felt a tap on the bottom of her shoe, along with someone calling her name.

"Hrm?" Hawke opened her eyes to see a vaguely familiar elf woman standing before her, face tattooed with Dalish markings. Hawke winced upon seeing them and felt her arm throb in sympathy.

"Hawke! Are you well? I was hoping you would come," the woman said, wringing her hands fretfully.

"Ah. Arianni, right?"

Hawke had rescued Arianni's half-breed son from slavers last year. She'd convinced Keeper Marethari to accept Feynriel within her clan to keep him out of the Circle and help control his magic. She hadn't seen him on Sundermount last time she'd been there, but assumed no news was good news.

Apparently, she'd been mistaken.

"You did so much for my Feynriel already, but..." Arianni started, and then changed tracks. "I visited him among the People, but he turned me away. I know the demons still plague him. And now they've taken him! Two days ago, Feynriel went into a nightmare and hasn't returned."

"He can't be woken up?"

"The Keeper says he is near death. His lips still fog a mirror, but that is all."

"Aren't there mages who can pursue him in the Fade? This isn't exactly my area of expertise."

"I have contacted Keeper Marethari. The Dalish have an ancient ritual that might help. But it requires someone Feynriel trusts to enter the Fade to free him."

"And what do you want from me?" Hawke asked though she suspected the answer.

"You have been so kind to us. Feynriel thinks of you as a true friend. Marethari is coming to perform the ritual that will bring Feynriel back. His childhood things here will help anchor him."

"Well, ah. It sounds like you already have everything in hand..." Hawke struggled to stand up, but Arianni halted her with a hand raised beseechingly.

"Please, Hawke. There is no one else I can go to for help, and Feynriel doesn't have much time left. I will give you everything I have, but please don't let my son die."

Hawke glanced toward Merrill's apartment and then back at Arianni's hopeful, teary-eyed face. She sighed and sat back down. "Keep your coin. I'll do what I can."

"You have been far kinder than I had any right to expect. I've already called for the Keeper. We need to begin the ritual as quickly as possible."

"Let me grab my friends...and my clothes. We'll be there as soon as we can."

Hawke heaved herself to her feet when Arianni left to make preparations, still feeling off-kilter. The bandage on her arm was soaked through with blood, but Marethari would be there shortly to keep her from nearly bleeding to death again. She returned to Merrill's apartment to find Merrill passed out with her head on the table. The empty bottle of ink was tipped on its side next to her hand while Varric struggled to bandage his arm. He looked relieved to see her, especially since she wasn't staggering around drunk like Merrill had been.

It hadn't even occurred to her to take advantage of their distraction and track down a drink or two. Half of her regretted the missed opportunity, but the other half was convinced Carver was sticking around to spy on her out of sheer, petty spite. The last thing she wanted was to give him any more ammunition against her.

The crimson lines on Varric's arm were cleaner than Hawke's but just as indistinguishable. Their tattoos looked pretty much the same with only small variations, but - like the one on her ribs - they still appeared to be little more than random squiggles. She had to trust Merrill to not have inked a demon summoning spell on either of them.

"What's yours say?" Hawke asked as she helped Varric wrap the gauze around his bicep before he replaced hers with a fresh bandage. Her tattoo had mostly stopped bleeding, but there was no denying it looked precisely like what it was; like a drunken individual with little to no artistic ability had carved sigils into her skin.

"Gullible." Varric rolled his sleeve down with a wince and carefully shrugged his coat back on. "Or trusty sidekick. I think a few words were lost in translation. I'd rather not know, honestly."

"At least this one didn't take nearly as long as the first one I got. I think we were in that cave for three days, if not longer."

"Three  _days?_ Hawke, I could barely sit for three hours of that!"

"If it makes you feel any better, I had a concussion, busted ribs, and a broken ankle at the time? I mean, pain was practically irrelevant at that point."

"Maferath's balls. If you and Rivaini ever get into a dick measuring contest, I know who my money's on."

"Mine's bigger," Hawke said confidently.

"Don't remind me," Varric groaned, rubbing his backside.

Hawke chortled and slung her arm around his neck. "So, I may or may not have promised to walk into the Fade and save Feynriel from demons while you and Merrill were busy."

"Please tell me you're joking."

"Does this look like my joking face, Varric?" Hawke pointed to her exaggerated frown and furrowed eyebrows.

"Shit. I seriously can't leave you alone for two minutes without you finding trouble. Let's wake up Daisy so you can fill us in."

After shaking Merrill awake and catching her up on the situation, the three of them went to Arianni's apartment to meet with the Keeper. Marethari healed her and Varric's arms and gave Merrill a sharp look when the crimson lines of the tattoos were revealed beneath the carnage. There was an air of palpable tension between them, but Marethari got right to the point rather than waste time bickering with her former apprentice when Arianni joined them.

"I did not wish to tell you by letter how grave your son's situation is, Arianni. The magic he possesses makes him what the Tevinters called 'somniari,' a dreamer. Dreamers have the power to control the Beyond, what humans call 'the Fade.' Feynriel is the first in the ages to survive. The demons who live there covet the bodies of mortals and seek to possess them. Only mages ever touch the Fade in a waking state. Others see it in dreams. Dreamers are unique for their ability to enter the Fade at will, without the aid of lyrium. In the Fade, they can shape dreams and even affect the world beyond the Veil. Tevinter somniari used to enter the minds of sleepers and slay them in their dreams."

"What exactly are we going to do here? Neither Varric nor I are mages, and I'm not about to send Merrill in alone," Hawke said.

"The elves of the Dales were experts in the somniari arts. They could even help those with no power enter the Fade. I have done my best to recreate the ritual. We will use Feynriel's childhood home as a focus to draw him back through the Veil."

"Just send us into the Fade," Hawke said before Marethari went into unnecessary detail.

The situation seemed dire, and who knew how much longer Feynriel had left before he either succumbed to a demon or his physical body failed him?

"I told you she was amazing!" Arianni gushed, mistaking Hawke's impatience for eagerness.

"Now, Arianni, please excuse us. We must prepare," Marethari said.

"Oh, of course."

Arianni was startled by the dismissal, but she did as asked and left the remaining group standing packed together in the middle of her cramped living room. Marethari took Hawke's elbow in an unexpectedly strong grip for such a tiny woman and led her away from the others.

"There is more I must tell you that is not for her ears," she said in hushed tones so they wouldn't be overheard.

"Is Feynriel in danger?"

"Indeed. And the danger may not come from what you think. Feynriel  _cannot_  become an abomination. The destruction he would cause is unimaginable. If you cannot save him from the demons, you must kill him yourself. A death in the Fade will make him what your Circle calls 'Tranquil.' He will be no threat after."

"That is every mage's greatest fear, including my sister's. I won't be the one to make it come true for Feynriel," Hawke said.

"I have no choice but to leave it in your hands. Now, gather your team and we will begin. Choose carefully, for all will face temptation." Marethari's tone was the same frustrated resignation she used when talking to Merrill, but Hawke had been hearing it her entire life from her own mother and was glad to have built up some immunity.

"Can I come? I'd love to see the ritual! And I promise I won't be a bother!" Merrill called out, completely rendering Hawke and Marethari's attempt at subterfuge null and void.

"Yes, you're coming, Merrill. The last thing anyone wants is either Varric or me wandering around the Fade alone without a guide. We might break something."

"This is unnatural in so many ways, but I admit... I'm a little fascinated." Varric scratched the stubble on his chin and gave Hawke a small shrug. "I'm in."

"Let us begin," Marethari said.

* * *

Hawke couldn't recall any details about the ritual. One second she was lying down in the middle of Arianni's apartment, and the next she was clutching drunkenly at a wall as the corridor she found herself standing in shifted and blurred around the edges, threatening to trigger her vertigo.

"Have I mentioned how much I enjoy being hungover without actually getting to experience the fun part of being drunk?" Hawke said aloud to no one in particular. She pressed her forehead against the cool wall until the world stabilized around her. "Maker, what was I thinking?"

"I was just about to ask you the same thing, Hawke. I have a bad feeling about this," Varric said from somewhere off to the right.

"Oh! Isn't this so exciting? I've never entered the Fade this way before. It feels...different. Like something is aware of our presence." Merrill's enthusiasm remained unfaltering despite her unsettling announcement.

Hawke managed to orient herself after a few minutes and push away from the wall to gather stock of her surroundings. The Fade looked like the inside of the templar's hall in the Gallows - replete with towering stone statues, marble floors, and the vague air of malevolent intent. The sheer emptiness of the place was unnerving and the silence was almost deafening. There wasn't so much as a mouse scurrying around. They let Merrill take the lead while Hawke carefully watched her feet and tried not to dream-vomit in the Fade as she got accustomed to the weird shifting and lack of permanence in the stone around them.

"Don't suppose we have an exit strategy?" Varric's voice was pitched a little higher than usual.

"The only way out is further in," Merrill said. "Or until we wake up."

"I was afraid you'd say that," he groaned and reached for the crossbow on his back.

"I probably should have asked this sooner, but will our weapons still work in here?" Hawke groped for her daggers, relieved to find them exactly where she'd left them strapped to her back.

"Your mind is your greatest weapon - and weakness - in the Fade," Merrill explained as they entered through one doorway and exited through another. "Whatever you imagine can become reality here. It's what makes Feynriel so dangerous. A death in the Fade can affect the mind so powerfully in the waking world that your physical body can mimic symptoms of the injury or shut down completely. Your weapons will work if you believe they do, but be cautious."

The hall was a labyrinth of doorways and puzzles. Any etches they made in the walls to mark their route had the bad habit of disappearing or changing direction. After a fair amount of backtracking and creative swearing, they eventually found themselves in a chamber where they were greeted by a...thing. It looked a bit like an overlarge cockroach with a single, glowing eye. Its torso was vaguely humanoid with arms that ended in deadly-looking claws, but its lower half was nothing more than mist as it floated toward them.

"Well...it's rare to see two forgotten magics in one day," the creature - demon? - mused in a smooth, languid voice. "It's usually a slow place, the Fade, not many surprises. I wasn't sure I'd like this one...but it has potential."

"What are you yammering about?" Hawke tried to reach for her daggers, but her arms felt like they were swimming through tar and blinking took twice the effort.

"A sloth demon. Think active thoughts! Like...running and jumping and such," Merrill cautioned.

"Call me Torpor. I have a proposition that might interest you."

"I'm afraid I'm only interested in prepositions," Hawke said. "Though, I'll take the occasional adjective or dangling participle to round things out. And when those don't work, I stab."

"Have it your way," Torpor sighed.

There was a burst of energy that knocked Hawke back a step, but the blast pushed her into motion. She brought her blades up to deflect the downward swipe of Torpor's claws and sparks flew as the runes activated. She heard the recoil of Varric's crossbow at her back and saw Merrill summon protective rock armor around herself. She swung her staff in the direction of two shades that appeared behind them and blasted them to oblivion with more rock. Despite the lethargy that dragged Hawke's steps, Torpor was as slow as his name suggested. He went down under a barrage of stabs, bolts, and magic attacks when the three of them concentrated their focus on him before he could summon more shades.

"That was fun," Hawke said, pleased that she and Varric weren't as useless as she'd feared in the Fade. "What's next?"

"Up there." Merrill pointed to a staircase the demon must have been guarding.

The group set off with Hawke in the lead once Torpor's influence faded. At the top of the staircase was a door that led them to an unremarkable corridor. It looked like every other one they'd been traipsing around for the last few hours or so. Hawke wasn't certain how time worked in the Fade, but she felt like they'd been there forever.

She pushed open the door at the end of the corridor and slammed her eyes shut when she was struck by a bright blue and white light. When she cautiously cracked open her eyes, Varric and Merrill were gone. And she was wearing a dress.

No. Not a dress.  _Robes_.

Hawke patted down her chest and found it flatter and distinctly more masculine than she remembered. She nearly hiked up her robe to check what other modifications had been done to her body but heard Marethari's voice from up ahead.

"My people, I present to you...our hope."

Hawke let go of her robes and moved in the direction of Marethari's voice. She found herself in a courtyard full of ghostly figures in ancient elvhen armor and pushed forward until she caught sight of two solid forms standing at the forefront of the assembly.

"His features may mark him as human, but in his heart beats the blood of the Dales!" Marethari called out as a boy with fair hair and sharp features stood at her side and watched her raptly.

Feynriel.

"He came to us to learn his heritage, to release the power from a lineage as ancient as our race."

"I...I don't know what to say..." Feynriel said, looking happy and overwhelmed by Marethari's announcement.

"Just say no," Hawke called out, startled when her voice came out in a man's throaty rumble. "This is a trick."

 _I don't actually have a penis_ , she almost added, but managed to refrain.

"First Enchanter? What are you doing here?"

First...? Oh. She was Orsino, the First Enchanter of Kirkwall's Circle. Hawke thought she recognized the deep voice that came out of her mouth. She was glad she didn't check if all parts of his...her...anatomy were where they should be. There were some things one could simply not unsee, and an elderly mage's dick was one of them. She'd never be able to look the real Orsino in the eye with a straight face again.

"Mother told me the Dalish are honorable! Why would the Keeper lie?" Feynriel argued.

Orsino's mouth moved without Hawke's input. "Why would she entrust her people to a human?"

"You are one of us, Feynriel. Your magic will restore our greatness," Marethari assured him.

"But...you told me this magic was outlawed for a reason. Even the Dalish don't practice it anymore." Confusion and doubt were starting to leech into Feynriel's voice.

"Wake up, Feynriel. That's not the Keeper. That's a demon," Hawke/Orsino said.

"I-"

"Don't listen to him!" Marethari interjected. "The First Enchanter is trying to keep you from realizing your greatness."

"Trying to keep me from temptation, just like you were. You're not the Keeper! Begone, fiend!" Feynriel yelled, stepping away from the demon. Marethari reached for him, but he turned and vanished in a flash of light.

"You! Why did you interfere?" Marethari demanded but didn't wait for Hawke's answer.

Hawke flung her arm in front of her face when a second flash filled the room. When the light faded, Hawke immediately groped for her breasts and was relieved to find them where they should be. Varric and Merrill had reappeared beside her, but their happy reunion was waylaid by the huge demon standing in the false Marethari's place.

"With my power joined to his, Feynriel would have changed the world!" the demon growled. Its long horns nearly brushed the high-vaulted ceiling as it turned its multi-eyed gaze on the interlopers in its domain.

"Not in any way that would benefit us mere mortals," Hawke said, hands still clapped over her chest.

"Those who are free to choose always want power. You think your friends are different? You think this elf, with her innocent face, would turn down a demon's offer? She didn't before. How about it?" the demon asked Merrill. "Would you take what I offered the boy? Scion of the Dalish, savior of elvenkind?"

"Can you...do that?" Merrill said with a worrying amount of interest.

"I am the greatest of my kind! Whatever tricks your little pet has taught you will pale in comparison."

"Sure, when he puts it that way..." Hawke muttered sarcastically. "You can't actually be considering his offer, Merrill."

"I...cannot put you ahead of the fate of my people, Hawke."

"You took my dreamer, now you'll take his place!" the demon announced triumphantly.

"Merrill, no!" Hawke was barely able to dodge out of the way of the lightning strike when Merrill grabbed her staff and whipped it at her.

Her assault was relentless, and there was nowhere Hawke could hide to avoid her spells. The trick of rolling between the demon's legs so Merrill's spell hit it instead only worked once. Varric focused his attacks on the demon, leaving Hawke to take down Merrill alone. She couldn't get close enough to knock her out or make Merrill listen to reason over the deafening blasts of rock and electricity.

She narrowly dodged a boulder that would have crushed her skull, but flying shrapnel exploded and sliced across her brow. Hot blood poured down her face, blinding her in one eye. The cut stung and the taste of copper was sharp and real in her mouth as she spat out a mouthful of dust. The last thing Hawke wanted to do was kill Merrill in the Fade and risk making her Tranquil in the real world, but she wasn't giving Hawke many options.

Merrill geared up to release a rock fist directly at her that would pulverize her as thoroughly as any ogre's punch. Hawke didn't let herself think as she grabbed a throwing knife from thin air, willing it to be real, and lobbed it directly at Merrill where it sunk hilt-deep into her chest.

Merrill staggered back with a cry and dropped her staff. Hawke forced herself to turn away before startling déjà vu threatened to overwhelm and incapacitate her. She attacked the demon with everything she had in her, stabbing into the armor-like plates that made up its body and burning it with her fire enchantments until it fell to one knee. Varric finished it off with a direct shot in one of its many eyes.

"Shit,  _Daisy_..."

"We need to find Feynriel," Hawke said curtly, not allowing herself time to panic as she left the demon and Merrill's bodies behind and raced back down the corridor with Varric following her.

Monsters made out of lava appeared, determined to halt their progress. Waves of molten heat and fire radiated off their shapeless forms as they swiped at them with firebrand claws. Lava splattered and burned the back of Hawke's hand when she tried to cut into one. She was forced to jump back and hit them with her throwing knives until she remembered the boom rock Sandal had given her that morning and wiped the monsters out in one blast.

Thankfully, neither she nor Varric seemed to run out of ammunition in this place. The lava monsters were little more than smears of ash on the floor by the time Hawke and Varric were through with them. Without a guide, Hawke picked a door at random and entered. She was hit with another flash of light and didn't even need to grab her chest to know she was alone and inhabiting someone else's body again.

"That's it, Feynriel. Hard on the downstroke, then lift. Good!" said a man with a thick, Antivan accent. He was standing over a young, fair-haired boy sitting at a writing desk in the corner of the room. "I'll have you scribing all my letters soon. If I'd known you were such a bright lad, I'd have brought you into the business years ago."

"Does that mean I can come with you to Antiva, Father? Mother said maybe this summer... Right, Mother?" The boy – Feynriel – turned to Hawke with big, hopeful eyes.

If Hawke was Arianni, his mother, then that made the man Vincento, an Antivan merchant who had left Arianni after Feynriel was born. "Your father never wanted anything to do with you. Don't trust him," Hawke/Arianni said.

"Why are you lying to me?" Feynriel asked his lying demon of a father. The real Vincento wasn't actually that much better.

"Don't listen, Son. She's always been ashamed of you. She wanted you gone so she could go back to the Dalish. I'm the one who loves you," Vincento said.

"But...why can't I remember you?"

"This is a trick, Feynriel. He wants something from you," Hawke/Arianni warned.

"Why...? That's right! I spent my whole childhood waiting for you," Feynriel accused Vincento.

"Your mother never allowed-"

"My mother loves me! She showed me the letters she wrote you. You never wrote back. And it was Mother who taught me to write, not you! I've never met you before! Who are you?"

"Don't...question..." the heavy accent turned into a low purr as Vincento glowed with the light of his unexpectedly busty reveal, "...me."

"Aaah!" Feynriel yelled before running into a wall and disappearing.

Hawke had seen - and killed - a desire demon once before when it had been controlling Lady Harriman, but the sight of its luscious body, draped with thin chains and scraps of silk that revealed more than it covered, made forcing her eyes higher than the demon's perfectly-formed breasts damn near impossible. It didn't help that Hawke hands were itching to fondle the demon's lovely assets instead of her own less exciting ones.

"You! You turned him against me," the demon said, sounding far less angry than Hawke would have expected.

"And now you're going to die." Hawke reached for her daggers, knowing from experience just how effective they were on this particular demon's bare flesh.

"Take away my pets, and I'll take away yours. How loyal are these friends you drag into the Fade?"

Hawke exchanged a glance with Varric. Before Merrill had turned on them, Hawke would have confidently said very. Varric reached for her hand and laced their fingers together with a reassuring smile.

"It's me and you, babe. No matter what." He straightened his back and lifted his chin as his smile took on a challenging edge. "Give us your worst, demon. Nothing you say will ever turn me against Hawke."

"You think this dwarf would turn down an opportunity to seize a power unknown to his kind? What do you say, storyteller? It's chafed, has it not, making your brother the hero of your own tale?"

"A hero?" Varric said in disbelief. "Bartrand betrayed us!"

"And came away with the treasure of the ages. With my aid, you would have emerged with the glory, not tarnished silver and flesh wounds."

"That's what you've got? 'Join me, and you too can be a back-stabbing bastard'?" Hawke scoffed.

"I did always want to wipe that smirk off his face..." Varric considered briefly. "But sorry, lady. No deal."

"No? Not even if your love was at stake?"

The demon's form melted away and another woman's figure took her place. Messy black hair covered the demon's once-bare scalp. Her eyes glowed blue with an electric, otherworldly glow. Kaddis streaked the bridge of her nose, matching the blood-red hue of her lips.

Hawke stared at her doppelganger. More specifically, at the unmistakable swell of her belly swathed behind a sheer, satin slip the color of moonlight.

"Fuck, Hawke?" Varric's face drained of all blood, and his hand went lax in hers. He no longer saw the real Hawke standing next to him and took a step toward the illusion. The desire demon reached for him but was stopped by the rattle of chains around her ankle. Her face contorted in terror as she pressed a hand adorned with a plain, gold band on the fourth finger protectively against her stomach.

"Varric, please! Help me! Don't let it hurt us!"

The demon pointed a trembling finger right at Hawke and began to cry. The real Hawke didn't have to see him reach for his crossbow to know Varric was already lost to her. She told herself he would consider it a mercy when she drove both daggers into his back before he could finish lining her up in his sights.

She could barely see through her furious tears as she ripped the blades out. Varric collapsed with a grunt, and the demon's eyes flashed black with triumph as she reverted back to her true form. Hawke lashed out and split the demon open from cunt to guts with an enraged snarl. Its lavender skin parted like ripe fruit but didn't spill a drop of blood as it screamed and vanished in a puff of smoke.

Hawke stumbled out of the room and wiped at the tears and blood trickling down her face from a forgotten wound. She wandered blindly, hand leaving red streaks on the wall as she struggled to stay upright, numb with shock. She thought after the past few weeks of being subjected to her worst fears, nothing could surprise her anymore.

She'd been dead wrong.

Hawke almost didn't see Feynriel when she stumbled across him in the chamber where her original group had encountered Torpor. Both of them were alone and distinctly worse for wear.

"I'm not sure if this is real," Feynriel said, looking around the empty chamber before fixing his cat-like eyes upon her. "If so, it is the second time I owe you my life. The Fade feels different now. I see the stitches, the seams holding it together. I feel I could wake at any moment."

"Dreamers like you control the Fade and the dreams of the people in it." Hawke prayed this had all been no more than a bad dream. The potential real-world consequences of her actions in the Fade were too catastrophic to even consider.

"I see why the Chantry fears us. I've heard tales of magisters who stalked their enemies and used their own dreams to destroy them. I must master it, find someone to study under before I hurt anyone else. The Dalish do not have what I need. Perhaps Tevinter. If these powers can be trained, it would be there." He stopped and considered his own reasoning. "My mother would not look kindly on such a journey. Can you give her my farewell?"

"I will. Take care of yourself out there, Feynriel."

He turned from Hawke and waved his hand in the air, creating a portal that allowed him to pass right through and disappear in one of those annoying flashes of light.

And then Hawke was well and truly alone in the Fade.

The silence was so overwhelming that her breath and near-silent footsteps sounded obscenely loud in comparison. If Marethari had discussed an exit plan with the group before they went under, Hawke had no recollection. Wandering around aimlessly held only marginally more appeal than staying put did. She hoped she woke up soon before someone – or something – found her first.

She unwillingly ended up in the room where she had killed the desire demon and Varric, but there was nothing there. No bodies, no bloodstains. No evidence that she had murdered her lover in cold blood while he tried to protect her pregnant visage.

Perhaps dying in this strange dream state had launched Merrill and Varric back into their physical bodies, but Hawke couldn't bring herself to test that particular theory herself. If her companions were already back in Arianni's apartment, they would find a way to wake her sooner rather than later if she didn't return on her own. She didn't dare consider the prospect of being doomed to wander the Fade for eternity with only her nightmares for company.

She walked down endless hallways and opened door after door to reveal rooms identical in every way with only minor variances. She found books with words that swam dizzyingly on the pages until she clapped the covers shut and tossed them over her shoulder.

She didn't feel tired or hungry, but she was weary in a way that had nothing to do with her physical body's limitations. Torpor had been right in implying the Fade was boring. She almost wished for another fight to break up the monotony, but she knew better than to tempt fate in a realm full of creatures who knew someone's deepest desires and preyed upon them mercilessly.

Hawke entered another empty room like all the others that had come before it and planned to sit down and wait for rescue. Except that it wasn't empty. She paused in the doorway and let out an incredulous laugh at the sight that greeted her.

There, sitting on a small, round table, was a goblet and a bottle of red wine, already uncorked.

Her laughter sounded raw and brittle and didn't stop until she'd sagged against the wall, arms propped on her knees and head bowed as she confronted her very own worst temptation, custom ordered for one Marian Hawke. She didn't fault Merrill and Varric falling prey to their own desires and had forgiven them both even before they'd turned on her.

This was the Fade. Nothing was real.

What did it matter if she gave in like they had? She was alone and no one would ever know if she let herself have a glass or the entire damn bottle. If the wine was poisoned, it would only boot her out of the Fade that much sooner. If there was ever a time to indulge, it would be now. Her physical body would remain unaffected and not have to suffer through the horrors of withdrawal again.

She could tell by the label it was one of her favorite vintages straight from Tevinter. One little sip wouldn't hurt...

"Get out of my head," Hawke snarled, clutching fistfuls of her hair and baring her teeth when she saw the edge of her shadow flicker.

There were no candles in this room. The Fade didn't seem to need them for more than eerie ambiance. Her shadow wavered before it gave up the lark. A dark, shapeless form drew itself out of the ground and hovered before her. Its chuckle was as dark and rich as the notes of cherry and currants wafting from the wine bottle. Startling white, pointed teeth appeared where a face should be, stretching into a viper's grin.

"Why do you resist, little Hawke? There is no one left to be strong for. All I offer is respite for the weary wanderer. An opportunity to slake your  _thirst_."

Its claws reached out and curled around her neck, replacing all of the air with a thirst that blistered her tongue and cracked her throat. Her lungs burned even though the need to breathe in the Fade was an illusion, as was everything else. Despite knowing it didn't exist, the bottle of wine glistened beguiling through the transparent mist of the demon's form. It was the most real thing in this place. The demon's claws relaxed and scraped lightly, almost sensually down her throat as the thirst abated to a low throb of yearning.

"I can take away your pain. Make you forget."

Its form solidified and Hawke's breath caught when warm brown eyes and a gentle smile framed by a thick, dark beard replaced the creature's grin. Malcolm held out a hand to her, callused and sun-browned. Hawke thought she was stronger than the cruelness of her hallucinations, but she had no defense against the kindness and love in her father's eyes as he drew her to her feet and into his arms.

Hawke... Marian felt the surety of his heartbeat beneath her cheek and breathed in the comforting scent of fresh-tilled soil and dog mixed in with the sharp, clean aroma of ozone. His arms, strong enough to wield a staff and a sword, strong enough to carry the weight of the world, held her effortlessly. When he spoke, his words were Malcolm's words and all for her alone.

"There's my girl. Just look at you. My little Marian all grown up into a beautiful woman."

"You were gone!" Marian cried into his chest, clinging to his robes. "I tried to look for you, but you weren't-"

"Shh. I shouldn't have left you behind. Any of you. For that I am sorry. I've placed such a terrible burden on your shoulders, my girl. You're more than your Mother and I could have ever hoped for, more than we ever dreamed. I couldn't be more proud of the person you've become."

"But Carver! A-And Bethany..."

"Keeping our family safe was my responsibility, and I failed you. I'm so sorry, Marian. Can you ever forgive me?"

"Father!" Marian was glad she didn't need to breathe. She couldn't even cry properly. Each sob slammed up against a wall of tension in her chest that wound tighter and tighter with every passing moment until she was trembling uncontrollably. Her legs refused to hold her, but Malcolm was a pillar of strength, unwavering in his support as he stroked her hair tenderly.

"Hush now, darling. It'll all be over soon."

Malcolm's arm tightened around her back. His blunt fingers turned into needlelike claws that pricked her scalp before gripping a fistful of her hair and wrenching her head back. She opened her mouth to cry out, but an acrid smoke enveloped her, blinding and suffocating her as mist as dark at the Void itself sunk its claws into her soul.

Panic leeched out of her like blood from a mortal wound. The sudden, blissful calm felt almost like becoming a broodmother had, except in place of the sweet song of the Calling was an alluring promise of oblivion as her identity dissolved into nothingness save for the desire to submit. No pain, no suffering, no chains of duty shackling her like the statues of tortured slaves erected in Kirkwall's harbor.

She could be free once and for all if she gave in...

A bright red flash and accompanying spark of pain from her left arm flung the demon out of her. Hawke dropped to her knees and doubled over with wracking coughs as she clutched her throbbing arm. Malcolm was gone, and the demon returned to its original shapeless form in his place.

It bared its fangs and hissed. "How is this possible? You are no mage!"

Hawke almost expected blood when she pulled her hand away, but instead the mark Merrill inked on her arm pulsed and glowed red in tandem with her heartbeat. The demon prowled the edges of an invisible boundary in agitation, eyeless face fixed on the sigil.

"Ahh. But you've been claimed by one." It cocked what Hawke took as its head and considered her. "Your little mage's protection will only last so long, Hawke. You are alone here. Your companions betrayed you. Abandoned you to their own desires. You will always be alone...in the end..."

The demon flew at Hawke with claws extended the instant the mark on her arm went silent. She rolled to the side and grabbed the neck of the wine bottle still sitting on the table. She smashed it and drove the jagged glass into the creature's midsection. It howled, blowing Hawke's hair back with the force of its scream as it exploded in a flash of light. Her ears rang in the resulting silence as she was left alone in the room holding the broken remnants of the bottle. Wine pooled like blood around her knees, soaking into her pants and streaking down the pale skin of her forearm, cool and sticky.

She didn't have time to revel in her victory or give into the urge to lick off the drop clinging to the back of her hand before she felt a hook anchor itself behind her navel and give a hard tug.

* * *

"She's waking up! Get back. Give her some air."

Hawke heard Varric's voice as if through a tunnel as she rolled to her side and groaned. It felt like someone had dropped an entire thaig on her, and she had to fight tooth and nail to claw her way back to the surface. She blinked when she could manage to force her eyelids open and took stock of her blessedly solid surroundings.

Despite his order, Varric hovered and remained kneeling at her side. She was lying on a pallet on the floor in Arianni's living space with her, Marethari, and Merrill also kneeling in a circle around her. She could see the flaking paint from the symbols Marethari had drawn on the floor. The cloying smoke from a dish of burning herbs made her cough, but it was preferable to the oil-slick feeling she imagined still coating her insides after nearly being possessed.

"Blessed be the Creators. You've returned!" Arianni covered her mouth with her hands, eyes wide and shimmering with unshed tears. "Is Feynriel...?"

"He's mastered his powers," Hawke coughed out, allowing Varric and Merrill to help her sit up. She was relieved they both seemed to have escaped their ordeal in the Fade unscathed.

"Then he lives? You saved him? I cannot thank you enough! Keeper Marethari, may I return with you to the Sunderlands? I would like to ask my son's forgiveness," Arianni said.

"Of course. It was you who chose to stay away," Marethari reminded her kindly.

"He must go elsewhere to train. There is no one in Kirkwall to help him. He asked me to say goodbye," Hawke said.

"My son! No! I must find him before he goes."

"It is wise for him to seek guidance. Kirkwall cannot provide what he needs." Marethari tried to soothe Arianni's panic, but Hawke didn't think her words had much effect on the frantic mother as she fled to parts unknown within the apartment. Most likely to pack was Hawke's guess.

"Maker, my head hurts," she muttered and pressed her hand to her brow. She pulled back with a hiss when she encountered a cut in the same place Merrill had clipped her with a rock attack in the Fade. "What the..."

"You were thrashing in your dreams. I'm afraid you hit your head before I could subdue you. I didn't dare attempt to heal you while your spirit was in the Fade and risk my magic interfering with the ritual." Marethari healed the cut and checked Hawke over for any other injuries. "I truly did not think what you did was possible. You are a rare human, indeed."

"I'm just glad it worked. But let's never do that again." Hawke's arm ached, but at least it wasn't bleeding. She didn't mention the demon's attempt to possess her or the repelling effects of the tattoo in front of Marethari.

"You have my apologies. It is easy to forget that one cannot bind demons with words," Merrill said to Hawke, avoiding Marethari's cool gaze. Hawke was glad to see killing her hadn't made Merrill Tranquil, despite Marethari's warning.

Varric looked equally, if not more distraught than Merrill. "Hawke, I-"

"Not right now, Varric. We'll talk later."

Hawke's tone was clipped and tight, leaving no room for argument. He wilted and raked a hand through his hair, clearly unsettled by what they'd both seen in the Fade. A part of Hawke regretted not drinking that entire bottle of wine, real or not. She would need fortification for the inevitable discussion they would have in the not-too-distant future - if she knew her dwarf and his penchant for wanting to talk about their  _feelings._

"Your friends awakened here some time ago. No one is immune to a demon's offer," Marethari said.

 _I was,_  Hawke almost said, but it wasn't precisely true.

Being offered the chance to give up all responsibility and lose herself to oblivion through a wine bottle or her father's promises still left Hawke with a deep, unshakeable yearning. If not for Merrill's protection, Hawke very likely would have given in and let the demon take over. Let it deal with the shitty hand fate had dealt Hawke and see how much it liked the oppressive decrepitude of Kirkwall and its people. It would be begging to return to the Fade the instant Gamlen with his gambling debts, Hubert with another plea to clear out dragons or spiders in the Bone Pit, or the nameless hoards that came around begging favors showed up on her doorstep.

Marethari helped Hawke to her feet despite being half Hawke's size and handed her an old, heavy tome. At least the words in this one stayed still on the page, as they should.

"You accomplished a miracle with Feynriel. This book belonged to the last dreamer of our tribe. It has a rare magic beyond price. Please accept it with my gratitude," Marethari said.

"I'll be glad to accept, but shouldn't Feynriel or another Dalish have this instead?"

"You have done much for our clan. It is a debt that can never be repaid. I trust this book to your care. I'm afraid it was no more help to Feynriel than I was. I hope he finds what he is searching for in Tevinter."

"Me too."

Hawke accepted the gift graciously, if not without reservations. The group made curt but polite goodbyes to Arianni and Marethari and fled back to Merrill's place. Hawke stashed the book on Merrill's bookshelf, figuring she would get more use out of it than Hawke would. She probably didn't appreciate that her Keeper kept giving Hawke priceless Dalish heirlooms right in front of her.

Hawke, Varric, and Merrill stood in uncomfortable silence for a long while, each recalling their own betrayals and the more literal backstabbing that had occurred in the Fade. Hawke wasn't surprised when Merrill was the first to break, voice thick with tears.

"I...I can't believe I turned on you...with the demon...in the Fade... I'm so sorry, Hawke.  _Ma serannas._  I'll understand if you can't forgive me."

"If I held a grudge against everyone who attacked me in a dream, I'd have no friends," Hawke said brightly with a shrug. "Besides, you did save me in the end. I was nearly possessed by a demon, but this thing kept it out. I should be thanking you." Hawke tapped on her tattoo and Merrill's eyes widened.

"That's not... It shouldn't have..."

"Well, it did. So thank you. Uh.  _Ma serannas._ "

"How do you do that? Make everything better with a smile? It's like magic that doesn't get you in trouble." Merrill's posture relaxed from the tight, miserable way she'd been holding herself. "I've been so careful in all my dealings with spirits until now. To make such an obvious mistake... It frightens me. It takes so little for a mage to fall."

Hawke glanced down when she felt a light touch on her arm and nodded when Varric cocked his head in the direction of Merrill's kitchen, likely to make them all drinks. Hawke was relieved to note she had no interest in digging through Merrill's rubbish for stray wine bottles.

She joined Merrill at the table and took a seat next to her on the bench. "What do you do to protect yourself from demons?"

"The Keeper taught me in the Fade you must believe nothing but yourself. Everything there is a lie or a trick or a trap. I knew not to trust... I don't know why I did," Merrill said.

"What made you give in then?"

Merrill's lower lip wobbled and her eyes flicked to the side as she searched within herself for an answer. "It felt like...every word the demon spoke reached out and pulled at my heart. I didn't want to believe it. But I just...had to."

Hawke felt the same way about the demon that had targeted her. It said things she'd told herself or wanted to hear from someone else. From her father. A part of her had believed it. If a piece of Malcolm lingered in the Fade, she might not have been able to tell him apart from a demon. She missed him. She missed how safe and capable she felt under his protective guidance. She used to balk at his expectations for her, but now knew he'd been priming her for the day she would take his place and carry on the Hawke legacy.

She wished she'd had more time with him. She wished...a great many things.

"You're already in a lot more danger than most mages," Hawke said.

Merrill stood and walked over to her broken mirror, the eluvian, before turning back to Hawke. "Because of...the blood magic. I know. I'll be more guarded from now on. Thank the Creators you were there. It won't happen again. I'll make sure of that."

Hawke was heartened by the edge of hardness in Merrill's voice and her determination not to fail again. Varric returned juggling three hot cups of tea. Despite their little Fade nap, Hawke was tired and ready to sleep until the world made sense again. She stood and cocked her head in the direction of the bookshelf.

"Study up, will you? I don't want to be caught off guard again should we find ourselves mysteriously thrown into the Fade."

"It's unlikely without the ritual or a working eluvian, but I'll do as you say. I'll study hard."

"Take care, Merrill. Thanks again for the artwork."

The tattoo was just a tattoo again. The raised skin was sore but healed and no longer glowing with whatever mysterious power Merrill had accidentally infused into the sigil. She'd probably been too drunk to recreate it in the future, which was a shame. Hawke would cover herself from head to foot in protective tattoos if they were guaranteed to work.

Even Varric might not bitch about getting one on his ass to protect himself from Hawke's unwanted advances down there. Until then, Hawke would get to work on possessing him in her own way as payback for falling for a demon's trick.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

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	19. Chapter 19

Hawke didn't speak on the walk to Lowtown. She was too absorbed in her own thoughts to notice how maddening her silence was to Varric, who was trailing doggedly at her heels.

"Are you ever going to let me apologize?" he panted as he jogged to keep up with her long-legged strides.

"For what? There's nothing to apologize for."

"Dammit, Hawke! You saw the same thing I did back there. I don't know what came over me. That whole time we were in the Fade, nothing felt real. Which...makes sense, considering."

"Considering?"

There was a pause as he decided whether or not to pursue the vision of her, pregnant and shackled, the desire demon had used to sway him. He'd refused to burden her with his own expectations back when they thought she might have been knocked up in the Deep Roads. But after the Fade, there was no question he wanted them to be together in every way possible – if that ring on her finger had been any indication. Hawke felt sick and panicked every time she thought about the desire demon's trick. She knew this heaviness was exactly what Varric had been hoping to spare her from when he'd refused to give her a straight answer the first time she asked.

"...Nothing," he sighed. "Anyway, I want you to know I would never choose a demon over you while conscious and sober."

"Don't make me kick your ass again, Varric. Don't forget you're the one who decided to let me have my daggers back."

"I haven't forgotten. I don't like the idea that some Fade creature can manipulate me. For what it's worth, I am sorry. I had to say it at least once."

"Great. Now we don't have to talk about it again. Hi Corff!" Hawke called, effectively ending the conversation as she pushed open the door to the Hanged Man and waved at the tavern's blond bartender. "Did Varric tell you we're sober now? Two weeks and counting!"

"I've heard," Corff said with his usual expressionless amusement. "I'm already considering retiring to Tantervale when I go out of business. Maybe take up fishing."

"Don't listen to him. Corff's no more likely to leave this place than I am," Varric said.

"Before I forget, you have a package, Hawke. I was instructed to hand-deliver it to you personally." Corff pushed a small box in her direction.

"I do?" Hawke didn't realize her mail was still being forwarded to the Hanged Man, but she wouldn't be surprised if Varric had been hoarding it as a means to blackmail her into returning.

She was wary of unsolicited packages after all of the marriage proposals and death threats she'd received, but she hoped Corff wouldn't let a box that smelled like someone's decaying remains to sit behind his bar for weeks. She opened the package to reveal a smaller wooden box. She opened the box cautiously, and her eyes widened with stunned disbelief. She slammed the lid shut with a loud  _clap_  that startled the man sitting next to them into falling off his stool.

"Varric. Your room. Now."

Hawke grabbed his wrist and didn't allow him the chance to ask before she hauled him upstairs. She made certain to shut and lock the door behind them before shoving the box into his hands without a word of explanation. She wrapped her arms around herself and bit her lip as she began to pace.

Varric wasted no time in opening the box.

"Holy shit," he breathed, picking up the newly-restored sapphire and silverite necklace Hawke had lost at the Blooming Rose after she'd been attacked.

Every delicate link had been repaired or replaced, and each priceless, perfect gem was snug in its setting. Bethany's scarf was nowhere to be seen, but Hawke was willing to chalk it up as a casualty considering the association she had with the item. She never expected to see it or the necklace again, except as incriminating evidence behind Willum and those other men's murders. No one she knew would be able to resist looting one-of-a-kind jewelry like that to keep for themselves or to pawn for a hefty profit.

Varric's shock seemed genuine, unlike when they killed a dozen templars in the Chantry and a box with her and Bethany's belongings had mysteriously appeared on Gamlen's doorstep to hide their involvement in that crime as well.

Hawke was really starting to hate surprises.

"Oh, there's a note," Varric said.

"Who's it from?"

"I have my suspicions, but why don't you read for yourself?

Varric gently placed the necklace back in the box and handed Hawke the folded piece of parchment that she must have missed earlier. Her eyes skimmed the letter and skipped down to the salutation.

"Denier?  _How_? Without our business, I doubt he could afford to get this fixed on a noblehunter's salary."

"He could have if he fixed it himself. He mentioned that he took up blacksmithing for a while when he was in Orzammar. It was how he met his kid's mother. Her family's in the miner caste, but a few of her relatives took exception to having some casteless whore infringing on what they considered to be their territory. Broke his fingers and warned him away from the girl, but by then she was already pregnant."

"If he can do something like this then why is he working for Lusine?"

"If the Merchant's Guild caught wind of it, he'd have more than just Orzammar's assassins after him. Despite being Surfacers, dwarven hierarchy is still a huge deal to the backwards old nug-humpers up here. Without the proper channels, contacts, bribes, and paperwork you can't even sneeze without their approval. Forget having a legitimate trade."

"Sheesh. No wonder you skip meetings to avoid them. Remind me to send him a thank you card and all the Chasind mead he could ever want. It's not like either of us will have any use for it."

"How's the detox going, by the way? Any more visions?" he asked.

"Aside from the ones in the Fade? No. Thank Andraste. I think it's safe to say I'm back to normal. Or whatever counts as normal."

"Normal's overrated."

Varric set down the box and his crossbow before shucking off his coat and boots in deference to the stuffy heat of his room. He had the bearing of someone who didn't plan on going anywhere clothed anytime soon.

A girl could get behind that plan.

Varric stripped off his shirtsleeves and trousers, and Hawke hastily followed suit. He drew them a bath and didn't bother to touch the lever for hot water. Normally, Hawke hated cold baths, but in this heat, with the reek of fear-sweat clinging to her pores, she wasn't going to object.

After a quick, perfunctory wash, she settled into his lap and they made out lazily while tracing each other's tattoos. Varric only had the one, but Hawke was thrilled at being able to pop his cherry in more ways than one these past few days. Most dwarves considered tattoos to be a mark of shame - a brand labeling them as lesser beings like the ones sported by Tranquil mages. He seemed enthralled by hers, though, as he traced the one etched into her ribs.

The lines of ancient Dalish verse were as crimson as newly spilled blood and still looked fresh despite having to heal the old-fashioned way. Hawke felt him tracing the line that meant  _be safe in your dreams_  over and over again, even though he couldn't possibly know what the words said or how apt their meaning.

Maybe the tattoos contained a protection spell infused with friendship, blood, or magic. It was hard to say which one was the more powerful. Perhaps all three had conspired to keep the literal demons away. She only wished her tattoo worked as well on the metaphorical demons. Hawke's hands roved across Varric's chest and down his arms as she ducked to kiss him softly.

"Look at me," she murmured and pulled back so he wouldn't end up cross-eyed.

His eyes fluttered open like he hadn't realized they'd closed. The color of them was as rich as honeyed mead or whiskey but made her ache with want for  _him_  more than the desire for a drink. The pull in her stomach was the same either way, but at least in this she could indulge without fear. He'd been so cautious with her back at the estate, letting her take him to her heart's content while carefully evading returning the favor except with tongue and fingers.

He did as commanded and looked at her. At her scars, faults, and all.

He built her up in his stories, but she had no doubt that he saw her for exactly who she was. That he still held her in the same enthralled regard despite experiencing Hawke at her worst so many times made her feel ten metres tall and also want to run and hide in a mouse hole at the same time. There was history, love, and desire in that gaze that no demon could ever hope to replicate. Hawke would never believe herself deserving of any of it, but for both their sakes she would bluster through and pretend the idea of being loved didn't scare her shitless.

"I don't want you to jerk off anymore," Hawke said, catching and holding his eye. She didn't care if the request was hypocritical, especially after he'd "caught" her masturbating in his bed. "Every time you come I want you to do it inside me. My mouth, my cunt, my ass. I don't care. I want to be there every time you feel good. I want to be the one who makes you feel good."

"Maker's hairy nutsack, Hawke," Varric breathed, staring wide-eyed up at her. He was as hard as a rock between them but didn't move an inch to indulge her request, frozen like a hare in a hunter's sights. "Are you taking...you know?" Varric hesitated with his hands on her hips, but Hawke doubted very much that he'd throw her off regardless of what answer she gave.

"No. I could have gotten more birthbane at Sol's, but I didn't. And I don't plan to either."

She met his gaze steadily as she waited for that answer to process. Hawke hadn't taken birthbane since the ogre had smashed her vial in the Deep Roads. She was tired of worrying about getting knocked up. Either it would happen or it wouldn't, and they'd deal when the time came.

The idea of motherhood was frightening to her in a way very few things were. She'd never seen or heard of a dwarf/human child before. Anders had said their chances of conceiving were practically non-existent considering dwarves had low birthrates in general, never mind with another race. In fact, the only half-breed of any sort that she knew of was Feynriel who'd been shunned by his human father and was an outcast no matter where he went. Hawke was the last person in the world who should reproduce, but she had no doubts whatsoever that Varric would make an amazing father if the unlikely event should happen.

She'd rarely seen a broader range of emotions fly across his face before. She wasn't able to tell which one took root because he buried his face against her chest. He let out a shuddering breath as he wrapped both arms around her waist and held her close.

"Are we ever going to talk about this?" he mumbled.

He already sounded defeated, but an affectionate smile tugged at Hawke's lips as she stroked her fingers through his hair. He could mean the past six months, his betrayal in the Fade, the possibility of them starting a family together, or a dozen other weighty conversation points they'd been avoiding.

Either way, the answer was the same.

"Nope," she said.

Varric huffed out a laugh against her breastbone. "Figures. I guess we're winging it like we always do?"

"Yep," she said because she knew how much one-word answers annoyed Varric. True to expectations, Varric pulled his head back and glared up at her. Hawke's grin only became wider as she rocked her hips impatiently. "What do you say? Ready to make some questionable life choices with me?"

"When am I not? I'm not sure about a great many things, but me and you? That's pretty much a given."

Hawke was tempted to hoist herself down on Varric's cock and get to work right there, but she had something else in mind. He pouted when she wiggled out of his hold until she pulled him to his feet as well. After a quick toweling, Hawke steered him toward his desk and tugged out the chair for him to sit down.

"As much as I love watching you, babe, I was hoping for a more...hands-on approach this time," he said with a token attempt at resistance. He smoothed his hands up the backs of her thighs and squeezed the swell of her ass.

She swatted him away, albeit reluctantly. "You'll get your chance, Varric. Indulge me for a minute."

Hawke walked over to the table where Varric had set down the package containing Denier's unexpected present. She kept her back to him as she lifted the heavy necklace and clasped it around her neck. Garbed in nothing else, she returned to the chair and knelt over his lap so he could finally get a good look at his gift on her. He traced each delicate link and sapphire setting before transferring his reverent touches to her breasts, teasing her nipples until they could rival the stones' for hardness.

Speaking of hardness...

"I'm afraid I'm not going to last long, Hawke," Varric said, voice shaky and raw when she squeezed his cock and knelt up over him to position him at her entrance.

"Practice makes perfect," she said sagely as she slid down and took him to the hilt.

Hawke hadn't gotten around to mentioning it to him yet, but fucking him in his desk chair was one of her favorite reoccurring fantasies. He could lose himself for hours writing away, and she liked to think of all the ways she could distract him from his work. She hadn't thought much about the practical aspects, however. She had limited maneuverability due to the low, wide arms of the chair, but all she needed were a few inches to manage an up and down motion, and she was golden.

Hawke shook damp hair off the back of her neck, shivering at the spray of water that chilled in the warm air and pebbled her skin. She dug her fingers into the thick pelt of Varric's chest hair as she rode him with the ease of long practice. Maybe in a few years sex would become routine or vanilla for them, but there was anticipation and excitement in knowing exactly what she'd get by straddling Varric when there were no barriers between them.

He was one of the only constants in her life, and Hawke craved predictability when so much else was going to shit. As predicted, Varric was determined not to be an inactive participant. He handled her body as expertly as he did his crossbow. He knew exactly where to tweak, where to stroke, where to draw tension so that when he was ready, he could trigger her release with unerring accuracy.

She bit her bottom lip hard enough to taste copper as she thrust herself upon him, luxuriating in the gentle ache of him filling her that was as much an addiction as any of her other vices. There was no question he loved seeing her like this, so in control of both their pleasure. She arched her back so he could look his fill, showing off her body and the necklace both.

She closed her eyes to better hear the muffled racket of their lovemaking; the creak and sway of the stone chair beneath them, the synchronized cadence of their breathing that went occasionally out of sync. One of them would hitch out a laugh as if in response to an unspoken punchline that'd been building up for as long as they've known each other. They followed one another's thought processes so perfectly they didn't need to bother with the setup anymore.

Hawke would be an idiot to give this up. She loved this man as fiercely and recklessly as she did anything else she considered hers. She took for granted that he would always be there with a conveniently-timed bolt or a wildly exaggerated story to ease the bitterness of heartache.

Her body was even starting to transform in subtle ways to become tailor-made for him; the burn of her thighs faded as muscle memory set in; her spine bent fluidly as she contorted herself to kiss him; her abdomen clenched and rippled with definition that had as much to do with sex as it did fighting. She raked her nails down his chest and stomach, feeling the quiver of hard muscle beneath the soft scratch of hair as he worked to offset her own limited range of motion.

Varric had never been  _fat_ , precisely, but he'd had indulgences that manifested in softer deposits around his body. She privately mourned the loss of familiar handholds and the beginnings of a beer belly that would now be a thing of the past, while at the same time thrilled in the sleek power coiled between her legs.

She couldn't wait for the day when she knew his every freckle, his every scar. She wanted to trace her name into every inch of his body until she became as permanent as the brands on their arms. Regardless of their meaning, the tattoos were a perfect representation of the impulsive and flagrant regard in which they held each other.

They were Hawke's unspoken hope for permanence. And, if the tattoos activated and blew them up one day, it would only figure.

Hawke found herself at a loss for words as she worked herself up and down on Varric's shaft, too far gone to care that she was moaning like a wanton whore. She half-feared that she would snap his dick bouncing as hard as she was, but he only grabbed her ass and urged her on. The chair dug painfully into her legs, but she didn't care. Discomfort came secondary, as it always did, when there was a goal to be had. Her thighs were taut and straining like a jockey on a horse, racing closer and closer to the finish.

"Varric! I want to come on your dick. Let me come on your dick," Hawke begged when she found her voice again and gripped the back of the chair for leverage. She didn't think she was asking for the impossible. Admittedly, repression didn't grant much in the realm of stamina. Varric was probably as repressed as one dwarf could get after going without fucking her,  _really_ fucking her, for so long.

"Yes. Fuck, Hawke. Anything. Anything you want, sweetheart," he babbled, pressing his face into her chest and imprinting the design of the necklace onto his cheek.

She was  _so_  close. She just needed a little more...

Varric groaned and tightened his hold, shoving her harder onto his cock while snapping his hips up to meet her. She shrieked as she came without a hand on her, grinding her clit against his pelvis as his balls slapped against her ass. They swelled and seized with the force of his orgasm as he pumped her full just like she'd wanted. They moved together for a few minutes longer, drawing out every shudder until they wrung the last pulses of pleasure out of one another.

Hawke folded her arms across the back of the chair and let her head hang down. Varric tipped his face up and rested their sweaty foreheads together while they caught their breath. She felt him twitching to life inside her after an unusually short rest period and was impressed by his recovery time. They didn't bother to separate when he gripped her by the backs of her thighs and stood. She wrapped her arms and legs around him as he walked a few steps to lay her out gently on the bed instead of tossing or dropping her like she'd half been expecting.

He moved inside her slowly, holding eye contact with an intense, thin-lipped look of concentration that made her heart flutter. Hawke chickened out after a few seconds and dropped her gaze somewhere between his nose and his chin. She dug her nails into his shoulders and started to move in earnest before he could say anything. They maintained a slow, lazy gait for ages, but she pushed her whole body into every thrust, clamping down to feel the drag of his thick cock plunging in and out of her. Each exhale became a grunt or a soft cry until Varric cupped her cheek and slipped his thumb between her parted lips to touch the tip of her tongue, quieting her but never silencing.

Hawke groaned as her pelvic muscles fluttered a warning, and she opened her mouth around Varric's thumb. Her teeth dug into the base of the joint, sucking the digit like it was his cock in her mouth instead. She'd use far fewer teeth on his actual cock, but a little pain mixed in with pleasure never went remiss.

He drew his thumb out of her mouth and left a slick trail over the necklace to her chest. He cupped her breast and circled a nipple with the wet pad of his thumb. He leaned down to take her other nipple into his mouth. The suction sent blood rushing to the surface of her skin, breaking the tiny, delicate capillaries in a more pleasurable process of bruising than she usually experienced.

She stretched her arms overhead and let him mark her up. He alternated sucking kisses between her breasts while she rolled her hips against his in an increasingly desperate pace that he encouraged when his hands dropped back down to her ass. His appreciation for the female form went without saying, but she was pleased he was learning to expand his boundaries as well – if the gorgeous sounds he'd made when she worked her cock into him were any indication.

Hawke wished they had the ability to maintain such willful abandon until the walls crumbled into dust around them. But until that happened, she didn't mind making the attempt again and again.

Varric reversed their positions right when Hawke thought her nipples were going to fall off from his relentless attention. He balanced her with hands braced against her hips, but his touch wasn't at all restrictive. She tipped her head back and grabbed fistfuls of her own her hair as she bounced vigorously on Varric's cock, making the necklace rattle.

As fun as chair sex had been, being able to move and grind without restriction was even better. Varric grunted at the wet impact of their bodies slamming together and gripped her hips tighter, pulling her down at the same time he drove his hips up.

Hawke was slowly losing her mind and covered her ears to keep her brains from dribbling out from between her fingers. She was so wet from their first round that only the desperate need to come reminded her to clench down, straining for the necessary friction to bring them to the breaking point.

"Hawke..." Varric growled, voice broken and aggressive with lust that never failed to send a thrill up her spine.

There was an entire conversation within that one word. By the time Hawke managed to tear her hands free without losing her hair in the process, her only response was, " _Yes_."

She had only enough time to draw in one sharp breath before he applied his thumb to her clit in a blur of motion that punched a screaming orgasm out of her. At the same time, his hips jerked up and up and up, filling her with his release. She'd been hit with a bolt of lightning from an enemy mage that felt less electrifying than this. Instead of pain, her body seized up as waves of pleasure coursed through her until she shuddered and collapsed with a weak cry.

Varric, as always, was there to catch her.

Hawke was almost numb between her legs by the time she recovered enough strength to flop onto her side and take inventory of her aching body. Cataloging injuries after a fight was so familiar a process that she didn't think twice about continuing the habit after sex.

They didn't go out of their way to hurt each other, of course, but they were both reckless when they were worked up and bound to push limits. Sometimes shit just happened. Still, she wasn't looking forward to Corff's knowing smirk when they came downstairs or Norah's half-jest complaints that they weren't running a brothel and laundry service was extra.

Hawke whined and buried her face against Varric's shoulder when his hand gently parted her thighs and burrowed between her legs. He was careful not to touch her clit, which still sizzled after that last explosive orgasm. He gave a pleased rumble when he found his spend leaking out of her and buried three fingers in her quim up to the knuckles. He took his time inspecting his handiwork, pumping his fingers in and out of her and turning them this way and that until obscene squelches filled the air.

"Pervert," Hawke complained, hiding her smirk as she felt their combined mess slick her thighs and run down his hand.

Varric hummed a deep, throaty vibration of agreement. He scissored his fingers apart and stretched the edges of her opening, fascinated by the sight of his come dripping out of her. There was so much that Hawke gave up on the thought of cleaning up and let him indulge his fill.

She wasn't expecting it but submitted eagerly when he pounced and pinned her onto her back. He shouldered between her legs and took his mouth to her, scouring her out thoroughly with his tongue. They were ready to go again by the time he finished, but Hawke let him do all the work. He hooked her knee over his shoulder and rocked them both to completion for the third and final round.

They remained connected long after he'd released and grown soft inside her, neither moving until the fancy chain around Hawke's throat threatened to strangle her. He finally pulled away to help untangle the necklace, setting it aside on the nightstand so it didn't get lost in the bedding. His ancestors were probably rolling over in their tombs after having their priceless heirloom defiled by a human, but Varric couldn't have looked more pleased if he tried.

He might have gone for a fourth round, but the look Hawke shot him when he stroked her bare throat and started a southward journey down her belly promised a swift punch in the head if he tried. He cupped a possessive hand over her mound without any funny business and brushed a kiss against her brow as he settled in next to her.

The stubble on his chin scratched her cheek when she forgot to rein in her smile. They lay there in companionable silence until the candles burned low and the damp hair between Hawke's legs became tacky and itchy. She recalled Solivitus' warning about genital warts and squirmed.

"Bath?" Varric asked.

"Ugh, yes. A warm one this time. Maker, we're gross."

Varric gave her a consolatory pat with equally sticky fingers before he thumped out of bed and scratched his balls with that same hand. Hawke muffled a snort of laughter into the crook of her elbow. She shook her head when he glanced over his shoulder with a raised eyebrow and a questioning grin of his own.

"Just wondering where that smooth, charming dwarf who swept me off my feet went," Hawke sighed.

She starfished out on the plush mattress while she had it all to herself. She didn't officially have her own side of the bed when she slept with Varric - she had whatever side she passed out on and would usually wake on top of or wrapped around him. Complaints about her eel arms or hogging the bed fell on deaf ears, though. She'd woken up as the little spoon to his big one more times than she could count.

"He's still here. Only he learned that playing nice with you tends to turn around and bite him in the ass more often than not," Varric said dryly.

Hawke stole a peek at said ass as he went to fill up the tub. She noticed that he did indeed have a livid bite mark on one gloriously-shaped cheek when he bent over - courtesy of one Marian Hawke. She rolled onto her stomach to watch him and tamped down the warm bubble of laughter that threatened to fill her heart until it burst out of her chest.

"I think you're nice," Hawke said with far more sincerity than she'd meant to voice, especially while sober. She kicked up her heels and swung them innocently when he shot her another suspicious look. She must have gotten better on her tells since didn't call her out on the uncharacteristic statement.

"I think sex has gone to your head," he said, testing the hot water that pumped in through the brand-new plumbing system he'd had installed after returning from the Deep Roads a much richer man.

There had been other, more subtle upgrades done on the building that threatened to turn the Hanged Man into a reputable establishment. The holes out in the hallway floor, for example, had been repaired to keep drunken patrons from falling through and literally crashing someone else's party.

Despite Corff's refusal to let him buy the tavern outright, Varric claimed he was content to patron his favorite haunt without expending the effort it took to actually run a business or keep track of employees. Hawke knew that excuse was complete bullshit. She wished she'd known what a pain in the ass ownership was before she'd bought out the Bone Pit. The mine was an endless drain on her money and patience, but Varric would thrive on the challenge.

Not that she'd ever tell him as much. There would be no end to his gloating.

"No, only  _really_  good sex has." Hawke let a blissful sigh pass her lips before she could catch it.

Varric straightened like she'd goosed him. If he'd been standing close enough, she would have. His ass truly was something else. It was a shame he wouldn't let her stick things in it more often. He turned to face her and still managed to look imposing with his dick hanging out. He crossed his arms over his chest and pinned her with a look.

"Okay. What's up, Hawke?"

_Dammit_.

"Up? Nothing's up, Varric. You're imagining things." Hawke shifted onto her back to put some distance between her and that  _look_. She grimaced when she landed in the wet spot on the bed but refused to move out of sheer principle.

"Nuh-uh. 'You're so nice, Varric'. 'You're so good at sex'," he mocked in the same high-pitched tone he used when imitating her. It made Hawke want to drive nails into her skull.

"Oh, go fuck yourself." Hawke felt her cheeks go damningly red as she covered her face with her hands and groaned.

"Seems like I did a good enough job of that already."

His voice was suddenly close. Right in her ear, in fact. She yelped and nearly smacked him in the nose when she flailed. He ducked to avoid her fist but swooped in again to scoop her off the bed and into his arms.

"Varric! Put me down, you ass!"

"Nope. Someone complained that I didn't sweep her off her feet anymore. We're both too young for the romance to be dead already, Hawke."

Hawke felt plenty romanced, which was part of the problem. She turned her face away to hide the redness that persisted when he walked her over to the bath. After being glued to each other's sides for the better part of two years, give or take, he shouldn't have the ability to catch her so off-guard anymore. Still, she protested the manhandling only because she couldn't let him know just how affected by him she was.

"Don't blame me when you put your back out, old man" Hawke griped but wrapped her arms loosely around his neck instead of trying to get away.

"Who are you calling old?"

She yelled when he bounced her and threatened to dump her into the bath. She squeezed his neck, holding on for dear life until he gave a strangled wheeze and tapped out frantically. She managed to unwind her arms just enough that he lost that rather lovely shade of indigo on his face, but she didn't trust him not to drop her for real after that.

Varric coughed with a rueful grin that faded into the same intense look as before. It was more terrifying and wonderful up close when she couldn't look away. He must have seen the fear on her face because he toned the intensity down a few degrees. He sat on the edge of the tub and held her in his lap like she wasn't practically twice his size.

Her heart beat out a nervous rhythm when he turned off the faucet, and the sudden cessation of rushing water gave way to silence. Varric saying nothing when he obviously had something on his mind was the number one way to break Hawke's resolve. He usually only employed that particular dirty tactic in the direst of circumstances.

Hawke was so determined not to crack that she didn't register biting her lip bloody until Varric made an unhappy sound and pressed his thumb to her mouth until she let up. He soothed the hurt with small, gentle strokes until the sting abated. Hawke licked away the smear of blood left on his thumb and tasted copper.

"Talk to me, Hawke. It's all right if you're having second thoughts. We don't have to rush into anything we're both not ready for."

He was far more patient and understanding than Hawke had any right to expect. He would probably sit with her like this until his ass went numb and the water was ice cold. Any doubts about him wanting to be with her until death did them part were erased in the Fade. Despite all the promises of fame, accolades, and wealth the demon had attempted to sway him with, his ultimate weakness, his ultimate desire had been  _her_.

As further proof of his commitment, the second she'd given permission he'd been all over her like he'd made it his personal mission to get her with child as quickly as possible. Choosing not to use contraceptives wasn't the smartest decision Hawke had ever made by a long shot, but she didn't think it was the wrong one where Varric was concerned either.

"Nothing to talk about," she said tightly. "Are we taking a bath or not?"

"The bath isn't going anywhere. C'mon, sweetheart. Tell me what's wrong."

She refused to look at him even when he tried to catch her chin and force the issue. She growled and snapped at his fingers with her teeth. "Andraste's ass, just leave it alone!"

"I can't leave it alone if I don't know what 'it' is. You want me to start guessing?"

Hawke could only imagine the kind of worst-case scenarios a mind like Varric's could come up with, and none of them were good. He looked thoughtful for a long moment before he asked quietly, "Is it Blondie? It's okay if you still want to try and work things out with him. You know I don't—"

"No, it's not about Anders. Well, mostly."

"'Mostly'?"

Hawke knew herself well enough to know what drew her to Anders the most was the illicit thrill surrounding him. He was undoubtedly dangerous and had already lost control of his spirit twice - to her knowledge. He felt like something she shouldn't want, shouldn't have, and that only made her want him more. Of course, Varric did his best to fuck up the appeal by being encouraging and supportive of their relationship. Hawke had fallen for his reverse psychology methods far too often but knew this time he was being genuine.

Even with Varric's explicit permission, she still felt guilty and confused by her attraction to Anders.

She found it odd that Anders hadn't featured in any of her hallucinations or as temptation in the Fade. Perhaps it was because she had yet to associate fear and regret as the leading factors in her memories of him, unlike with Millie and Carver. She might still have a chance to avoid that particular nightmare, but Anders would have no relief from his own.

As wonderful as her night with him and Varric had been, it was unsettling to know she was the source of his single most cherished experience. He deserved more than a few hours of happiness. She might even be able to provide him with more, but at what cost? She couldn't promise to love Varric and Anders equally and knew without question who she would pick if she were forced to chose one over the other.

Anders deserved better than scraps or to feel like he was always on the outside looking in. He deserved the chance to find someone who would love him with every part of their being, not someone who could only give him pieces of themselves.

Hawke licked her lips nervously. "So, here's the thing. While I'm off the birthbane, I don't want to run around playing 'who's the baby daddy?' Anders has about as much chance of knocking me up as you do, which is to say not much at all, but I'd still rather not take that risk. It's not fair to him or you.  _Especially_  you, because I..."

Hawke trailed off and hid her face, mumbling the rest into his chest.

"What was that?" Varric jostled her when she only grumbled again. "Hawke, speak up. I can't understand y-"

"I said I love you, you stupid idiot!"

Hawke pulled her face away and yelled as rage rose up swift and hot in her. It was a far easier emotion to express than the fear or embarrassment that shot through her at the admission. She didn't know why it was so hard for her to confess her feelings. He'd already told her he loved her several times, but the longer she'd gone without saying it, the more she lost her nerve.

"Okay? I love you, too, babe," he said, sounding bewildered. "Do you want to tell me what's wrong now?"

"That was it!"

Hawke felt as wound up and defensive as she did before a fight. Varric let her go when she pushed - potentially saving him from a broken nose if he'd tried to hold on. She scrambled out of his lap to stand, arms tucked tightly around her ribs and lips pulled back to bare her teeth like a caged animal.

He stared at her in open-mouthed incomprehension that turned into understanding faster than she was comfortable with. He took a minute to consider his response to such a deranged confession, but Hawke kicked him in the shin before he could get around to composing the perfect words in his head and saying them out loud.

"Ow, Hawke!" Varric yelped, clutching at his leg. "Are you serious right now? No. Dumb question. Of course you are. Only  _you_  would consider telling someone you love them more painful than performing surgery on yourself on the side of a mountain." He sighed and released his leg to rub at his forehead. "Maferath's sweaty taint... I don't even know what to say right now."

"You've said plenty, Varric. Considering almost everyone I've ever loved is either dead or locked up in a tower somewhere, you can see why I try not to get too attached."

Hawke could make the biggest disaster into nothing, and vice versa. She was surprised at Varric's surprise, honestly. He should have known this about her by now. His face softened, but Hawke wished he'd clung to his irritation a little longer.

"Oh, sweetheart. I'm sorry, Marian. I didn't mean to push."

"Yes you did. And don't call me that."

"Which? Sweetheart or Marian?"

Hawke was determined not to make this conversation any easier for Varric than it was for her. Even she could admit being afraid of her  _feelings_  was ridiculous especially after they'd slain dragons and survived the Fade. They were even considering making babies together. Dirty diapers were way scarier than telling her lover and best friend that she loved him. She'd been old enough to remember her parents barely managing to keep up with all the nappies Carver and Bethany had gone through. There had been no end to the crying, pissing, and shitting.

Maker preserve her. She still wanted all of that anyway.

"You know which one I mean, dwarf."

" _Fine_ , Hawke. So maybe I did mean to push. Can you blame me, though? I was worried you'd been possessed after all."

He sounded relieved there wasn't a bigger issue at stake, but what kind of person/friend/lover was she when saying something nice to Varric had him instantly on guard? Hawke didn't know what to say to excuse her clear lack of social development. Instead, she dropped to her knees in front of him and wrapped her arms around his waist without saying a word. There was nothing she could say when someone she thought the world of received more insults than praise from her.

"How is it you even like me?" she whispered. She didn't expect an answer, but she should have known that she'd get one anyway.

"Are you kidding? I've started drafting a book about all the reasons why you're the most amazing person to have ever existed. I might even need to make it into a series to contain it all. I'll give you an autographed copy at a special discount when it's done."

Hawke squeezed him and had to wait a full minute before she could find her voice again, but it still came out as a thick rasp. "You mean I don't get a copy for free being the author's girlfriend and all?"

"Hey, I gotta make a living somehow. Despite what you think, being your kept man doesn't pay the bills."

"I should have been charging you for blowjobs this whole time. Yet another opportunity missed. Story of my life," she sighed.

Varric stroked her hair and said softly, "Let's try not to miss anymore. Deal?"

Hawke sealed the deal with a kiss.

She lunged up and collided their mouths together so unexpectedly that Varric overbalanced and grabbed her as he fell back into the tub. A wave of water crashed over the edge and onto the floor. They nearly drowned in less than two feet of water trying to untangle their limbs and break for air. By the time they managed to get sorted, Hawke had accidentally given Varric a black eye and half the water was gone.

"C'mon, let me see it," Hawke said, trying and failing not to laugh when she attempted to coax Varric into letting her inspect the damage.

He kept his hand clapped firmly over his eye and scowled at her with the other. "No."

"Don't be such a baby. I'm qualified to handle medical emergencies now, remember?" She pointed to the garish scar on her thigh.

"Not on your life, Hawke. I'm fond of this eye and plan to keep it right where it is. Attached to my head."

"No knives, I promise." She grinned and held up her hands to show off her empty palms. Varric was having none of it, however, so she went for the low blow. "If you love me you would."

"...Fuck."

Varric's shoulders slumped so comically that it took everything in her not to laugh or pump her fist in triumph when he lowered his hand. Of course, she had no idea what she was doing but kept up the poking and prodding until Varric hissed and finally batted her hands away. "You're making it worse!"

"Oh, stop whining. You love it."

"I love  _you_." Varric sat back and gave her an expectant look when she flushed and didn't respond.

"What?" she said, scowling at the grin that spread slowly across his face.

"Usually, this is around the time the other party reciprocates, Hawke. I know it's difficult for you, beautiful, but believe me when I say it gets easier with practice."

"No way. I already used up my quota for this year. You'll just have to wait until next year. Or until one of us almost dies again."

"Wha-Seriously?" Varric's outrage was belied by the gentle way he stroked her hips when she settled into his lap and looped her arms around his neck. "What's a dwarf gotta do to get a little appreciation around here? Sheesh."

Hawke could feel him getting hard even though she'd thought them both pretty well depleted. She'd be sore in the morning, but she might have one more round left in her. She reached behind them and pulled the lever for more hot water. When she turned back, she caught Varric in the act of checking out her tits which decided things for her right there.

"I'm sorry you don't feel appreciated, Varric," Hawke purred as she moved her hips against his, making the water slosh gently. "Let me make it up to you?"

"Well...I suppose I could..." Varric's attempt at a casual tone cracked when she took him in hand, gave him a firm stroke from root to tip, and kissed him.

They were done talking for quite a while after that.

* * *

"Feeling a little more appreciated now?" Hawke asked smugly, nudging Varric in the side as she basked in a job well done.

After finishing up what had passed for a bath, they'd thrown the dirty sheets onto the floor to sop up some of the mess, wrapped themselves in overlarge towels, and snuggled up together in the middle of the bed. They'd succeeded in getting more water on the floor than on themselves, possibly ruining the expensive renovations Varric had funded, but Hawke was too tired to care. Corff was going to kill them, of course, which was a shame after she and Varric had finally reached an accord of sorts regarding their relationship.

"I'd appreciate being able to feel my legs again, but I'll take what I can get," Varric groaned.

"Try and sound a little more grateful, Varric. You'll hurt my feelings."

"I suppose you've earned a free copy of my book whenever I get around to actually finishing it. I'm thinking of calling it  _The Hawke's Revenge_. Or something like that. It's a work in progress."

"You know. I'm starting to think you don't appreciate-"

"Oh, shut up, Hawke."

"You sweet talker, you."

He growled and pulled her into his arms. He kissed her so sweetly that Hawke didn't need to hear him say a word to feel the love he had for her. After they came up for air, Hawke stroked Varric's arm and pressed her lips against the center of his tattoo. The crimson lines were warmer than the surrounding skin, but they were healing up nicely.

Despite the heat, he rarely went anywhere without his long-sleeved tunic and duster. But even if the marks were covered up, she and Varric would always know they were there. A thrill went through her at the thought and curled up warm and low in her belly.

Best friend tattoos weren't uncommon, and the Dalish attached powerful meaning and magic to their vallaslin, but seeing the physical proof of their connection was as arousing to her as giving Varric explicit permission to use her at will was to him. There was no pretty way of saying it without labeling herself as a come slut, but there was no denying she wanted a piece of Varric with her always. And since cannibalism was off the table, the tattoos and being an eager receptacle for his seed was the next best thing.

When she thought about the future, all she saw was a big, blank slate marked with the occasional scuffle or odd jobs. She didn't dare risk filling it with her desires and expectations. That way lay only misery and disappointment. Hawke thrived on having control over her own fate, or at least having the illusion of control. But she'd had the rug ripped out from beneath her too many times and learned how to roll with the punches. Less galling than to think some higher power was getting its fix from fucking with her.

"What are you thinking about?" Varric rubbed a hand up and down Hawke's arm over her own tattoo, possibly harboring similar thoughts.

"You want the abridged version or the editor's cut?"

"That's basically the same thing, Hawke."

"Short version it is," she grinned, but the cheerful façade dimmed as she considered and discarded all of the rampant thoughts crashing through her head. People often accused her of acting rashly or being more brawn than brains, but the truth was she would overthink things to death if she let herself. Better to trust instinct, charge ahead, and deal with the consequences later than to hesitate and miss her opportunity.

"No matter what happens, you'll always have my back, right?" Hawke said, sounding more tremulous than she would have liked.

"Hawke..." Varric said, low and tender. "Sweetheart. You should know I have contingency plans for everything. And you can be damn sure all of them include making sure you always have your trusty dwarf at your side. I'm with you, babe. Desire demons notwithstanding, but I don't plan on making that mistake twice."

"Oh. Well, that's comforting. Maybe I should get that all down in writing, just in case."

"What, don't you trust me?"

"I trust you to try and sneak yourself into the Amell will, dwarf. Don't think I haven't noticed the way you keep eyeballing my book on phallic potatoes."

"I could be an aspiring chef, Hawke. Can you blame me?"

" _Yes_."

"Maybe we do need a contract after all. Article 2, section B, paragraph 7: 'I hereby proclaim Marian Hawke, scourge of templars and ravisher of dwarves, to be the sole proprietress of  _One Hundred and One Uses for a Phallic Tuber_ , gifted by one Isabela Rivaini..."

"Let's skip to article 3, section H, paragraph 14: 'Smart-mouth dwarves by the name of Varric Tethras will hereby be limited to no more than three smartass comments per day'. Pretty sure you already used up your quota," Hawke quipped back.

"Three? Hawke, I may as well become a hermit and never speak again. At least give me ten. Twelve, if half of them aren't at your expense."

"I'll give you five. And only two at my expense."

"Eight."

"Five."

"Seven, and I'll give you unlimited foot rubs," Varric offered.

"Five smartass comments  _and_  unlimited foot rubs for me," Hawke said.

"I don't think you get the concept behind negotiating, Hawke."

"Sure I do. Negotiation's just another word for 'Hawke always gets what she wants, and wise dwarves know when to shut up and take it'. You'll find that one in article 5."

Varric groaned. "I took it all right. I should know better. You'll give me just enough rope to hang myself with."

"Tie you up with, maybe. Contracts can wait. First, I have a few more," Hawke wiggled her way top of him and pressed her thigh between his legs, making Varric gasp, " _stipulations_."

"Anything, Hawke." He shuddered, squeezing her tight. "Signed, sealed, delivered. I'm yours."

"And you say I'm bad at negotiations." She smirked and sat up to straddle his waist. "Looks like I came out on top."

"Yeah, yeah. So what are these stipulations of yours?"

Hawke tapped her chin as she thought, and then ticked off each point on her fingers.

"Hm. Breakfast in bed whenever I want. You're in charge of making sure Snowflake gets a bath at least once a month. And...let's see. I get to have two drawers here, but I'll give you a wardrobe all to yourself at the estate," she said.

"Agreed." Varric accepted her terms so readily Hawke regretted not tacking on a few more demands. "So, are we doing a timeshare then?"

"Mother says we can't raise the children in a tavern, but I don't mind going back and forth between our places if one's closer."

Varric gave a small jerk that Hawke wouldn't have noticed if she hadn't been sitting on top of him. His cheeks flushed a pretty pink, and his eyes took on a glazed cast that made her think of his reaction to the demon's illusion in the Fade. He looked bewitched and entirely at her mercy at the casual mention of their theoretical children that they may or may not end up having.

"You know what? Screw the contract. You can have anything you want. Feel free to quote me on that." Varric hooked an arm around her waist and planted a hard kiss on her chest since he couldn't reach her mouth at this angle.

"I have everything I want right here, but I'll keep that in mind."

Hawke stretched forward to grab the sapphire necklace they'd discarded on the nightstand. Varric reached up to fondle her breasts while she secured the necklace around her throat. If she let him, he would drown her in precious metals and jewels. Thankfully, he was able to manage some restraint, but she was curious as to what those contingency plans of his were. Maker knew 'Hawke' and 'planning' didn't belong in the same sentence, but Varric had apparently plotted out their lives together before Hawke even knew theirs was a forever kind of relationship. A forever kind of  _love_...

No, the romance certainly wasn't dead.

Hawke leaned down to nuzzle his cheek and moved until she felt Varric slide between her damp, swollen folds. She ached from earlier, but the best cure for sore muscles was to use them, and use them she did.

"Oh, Varric! You're  _so_  nice! You're  _so_  good at sex! I love you  _sooo_  much!" Hawke called out loudly once they really started going at it, giggling through her overdone moans.

It was so much easier to say as a joke, but Varric hooked a finger through the top of her necklace and yanked her down for a hard, passionate kiss all the same. They broke apart and stifled laughter when they heard Isabela's irritated voice call out as she pounded on the door.

"Not this shit again! You two caused a leak downstairs! Don't you have your own estate to ruin, Hawke? Go home!"

Unfortunately for Isabela, Hawke already was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Artwork for this story:  
> [Hawke](https://brie2230.tumblr.com/post/173863324111/hawke-from-my-hangover-series-facebook)  
> [Hawke #2](https://brie2230.tumblr.com/post/172701273951/marian-hawke-from-my-dragon-age-hangover-series)  
> [Hawke x Varric](https://brie2230.tumblr.com/post/173863186491/hawke-and-varric-from-my-hangover-series-line)
> 
> [Follow me on Tumblr!](https://brie2230.tumblr.com/)


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